


The Unwitting Tale of the Heir of Finca de los Reyes -or- The Glory of a Loving House

by IAmYourCaptainNow, millies_menagerie, MissCoppelia, QueenOfCarrotFlowers, RagtimeCat, starcrossreylo, vulpines



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal, Anal Play, Barbie Dolls, Bondage, Creepy Dolls, Death from Old Age, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Glory Hole, Haunted Houses, Inappropriate Use of Plants, Jerk Off Instructions, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Minor Character Deaths, Modern Era, Mostly Erotic, Necrophilia Adjacent, No Pregnancy, Plant fucking, Random Twilight References Throughout For No Reason, Rey is a literal House, This fic is safe to read for people who are triggered by Pregnancy, Threesome, Tiny Hand Jobs, bestiality if you squint really hard, gardening made sexy, no actual lions are fucked in chapter seven, possessed masturbation, sex with animated inanimate objects, slightly creepy, slightly horror, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourCaptainNow/pseuds/IAmYourCaptainNow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/millies_menagerie/pseuds/millies_menagerie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCoppelia/pseuds/MissCoppelia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/pseuds/QueenOfCarrotFlowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagtimeCat/pseuds/RagtimeCat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcrossreylo/pseuds/starcrossreylo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpines/pseuds/vulpines
Summary: There is a house on the bank of the Andrasha River just outside of Chandrila. Most people assume the place is haunted. It must be, what with its dark gray exterior and Victorian styling. Some say the original family that built it died tragically, though no one quite remembers how. Some say they knew the last owner, and now he’s dead too. So the rumors swirl like the fall leaves on downward journeys.Most of those rumors aren’t true.Ben Solo is about to find out.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 190
Kudos: 89
Collections: Reylo After Dark





	1. The House Across the River

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags and content warnings will be added as each chapter posts.  
> Please make sure to read all the tags and content warnings.  
> We wouldn't want you to get spooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by MissCoppelia  
> There are no content warnings for this chapter.
> 
> Our publishing schedule is going to be a little wonky at first.  
> Another full chapter will be published today, and from then, every Friday until we finish the strange and sordid tale of Ben Solo and Finca de los Reyes.

There is a house on the bank of the Andrasha River just outside of Chandrila. During the day one would not see much of it, all except the rooftops are covered by the thick leaves of the trees. At night you can see the lights twinkling, if the house is occupied, sending streaks of illumination across the water and back to the city.

Most people assume the place is haunted. It must be, what with its dark gray exterior and Victorian styling. It’s the only house on the riverbank. The other countryside homes are tucked away, far from the cliff’s edge. Who would build a family home in such a potentially dangerous place? Only a madman, they assume. Some say the original family that owned it died tragically, though no one quite remembers how. Some say they knew the last owner, and now he’s dead too. So the rumors swirl like the fall leaves on their downward journeys.

Most of those rumors aren’t true.

They don’t know the house. They don’t know the love and the care that was put into its creation, the care put into the design of it and into every piece of wood, every piece of plaster. They don’t know about the happiness and love that filled it for so many years, seeping through the floorboards and the walls and throughout the grounds so much that just being there brought joy to anyone who stepped foot inside the gates.  
  
It is a house with so much love to give. It is also a house that has known the pain of emptiness, of loneliness, of death.

But who would know to ask the house how it feels, or what it yearns for? Most assume houses don’t have feelings.  
  
Most would be wrong.

  
  



	2. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by vulpines. 
> 
> CW for Leia's death & mentions of cancer/illness.  
> It's not extremely detailed, but this chapter deals with ensuing grief/mourning.
> 
> (Look out for the next chapter on Friday.)

Ben Organa Solo gets the call on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s a sunny day in Takodana; even with the slight winter chill, the coastal currents bring a warmth from the ocean that could fool anyone into not realizing the holiday season is right around the corner.

Busy with back-to-back meetings at the architectural firm (focusing on the coveted new Hutt Corp. contract whilst keeping older ones like Ackbar happy was a juggling act for sure), it isn’t until he dips out for some street tacos that he notices the vibration of his personal cell in his back pocket. 

The letters _M-O-M_ seem to jump out of the screen along with the three other missed call notifications from the very same number. Ben’s suddenly hit with the brief echo of past panic, remembering the last time his mother reached out like this two years ago (after almost a decade of no contact). That short conversation lasted less than two minutes and consisted of discovering his father (the one he had also not seen in over a decade) was suddenly dead. The silver lining - if there was one - was that it helped him and his mother rekindle some sort of a better relationship, one that consists of weekly texts, an hour-long biweekly phone call, and even the occasional FaceTime. It’s simultaneously the right amount of contact for both of them and yet not enough.

He and Leia have something planned for Sunday morning, but if she’s phoning (four times at that) in the middle of a workday off their schedule, Ben knows it must be important. And so, he picks up.

Of course, it’s only Poe Dameron - his mother’s personal assistant and number one biggest fan. Ben has half a mind to hang up once he hears the voice on the other end, but Poe sounds more frazzled than usual.

“Ben? Ben is that you? Senator Organa’s in a meeting but wait-wait-wait!! I’ll grab her, she’s been trying to get a hold of you all day.”

“Dameron-” Ben starts, already tired of dealing with people but within a minute he hears rustling and a different voice over the phone.

“Ben?” With one word, his mom sounds...different. And that old burgeoning dread creeps back up his throat.

All he remembers from that conversation - dazed later in the car on the way to the airport, the Hutt project be damned - is certain words in piecemeal. 

_Less than a year. Terminal. It’s alright, Ben. I love you too. C a n c e r._

He thinks of all the years wasted - anger and regret at himself and his parents all tangled up in one twisted knot. He thinks, briefly, that there were good times too; one golden summer hazy with the memory of youth, at the house on a riverbank. He remembers feeling content yet still lonely somewhere; there, he thinks, in a daydream, in a nightmare.

***

Six months later, attendees will remark upon the aptness of the sun and beauty of the mild summer day that hosts the funeral of Senator Leia Organa Solo.

Amilyn Holdo, draped in a muted mauve more subdued than her usual fashion choices, ends the service with his mother’s favorite saying that leaves none of the mourners dry-eyed save Ben in his stoic grief: _“Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you'll never make it through the night.”_

Ben let his mother’s people (Aunt Amilyn and Dameron for the most part, among others) plan the funeral. He doesn’t know or care about ninety percent of the people that show up to the memorial, but just the fact that there are _that_ many people serves as a reminder that his mother was never solely “his.” 

It’s both a deep cut to the child and angry young man he used to be (and still fights against, at times) and also somewhat of a strange comfort too in the aftermath of her passing. A reminder of how many people she impacted before, during, and after the periods of their shared lives. (A reminder, too, of how supremely empty his own life is now - no parents, barely any true friends, and no partner taking up the space in his bed and his heart). 

Nobody ever says just how much paperwork death brings. Ben sits, in the months after, with their near ancient family lawyer - a Ms. Maz Kanata, JD; going through mountains of it.

When Han died, things seemed different. Maybe because Leia had still been there; indomitable, a cool presence in the face of more grief after losing someone else even though he knew she cried at night in quieter private moments. His father also didn’t have nearly the same amount of things in his own name; just his tiny junk heap of a private plane called the Falcon which had gone to his Uncle Chewie without a fight. 

It was almost easy for Ben to forget - with distance and time - that his mother had been a scion of two different wealthy families with some level of power, along with earning her own place in politics through her own gumption.

While most of the political paperwork had been handled by his mother’s offices, Ben is left with a number of other things. It’s almost too hard for him to touch in the immediate aftermath of Leia’s passing, but finally after a few months the sharp pain starts to fade to a dull ache. Some heirlooms and jewelry, passed down, he leaves in a safe in case he needs them in the future. The clothes and most of the furniture in her city apartment are donated; he has no need for them at all. (He does need a drink and several moments when he comes across a box of some of his childhood things, lovingly and carefully kept in the back of her closet safe as though they were treasures.)

As an architect, Ben does have a keen interest in the various properties his mother holds. Some (like the cabin Han had built for her in Kashyyyk after their wedding, which he remembers going to for Christmas some years on and off) are too close to his memory and heart to think about selling, even if he can’t think of a reason not to. Then there are those he didn’t even know about (like a small apartment in Coruscant bought within the last five years), that he has no connection to, but from a business perspective he knows it might bring in a profit. 

He leaves one house for last. 

Finca de los Reyes has been in the Organa family for generations. He’s only been there once - that hazy golden summer, he thinks - because the house touched something very deep inside his mother that she didn’t want to linger on after the death of her own parents a few years before his birth. And when Han and Leia’s relationship had become fraught, when Ben was sent off to boarding school...it seemed like there was never a reason to try and rediscover the house as a family again. His mother had been content to leave it in the care of an old family friend - a Mr. Ben Kenobi, also his namesake - and did not want to revisit it again.

And yet...Ben knows his mother spent almost a year living there, on and off between her political duties, in the time she kept fighting her cancer in secret. She had even died there, slipping away in her sleep; had gone back one last time with her nurse, telling him _I’ll be fine, Ben - I’ve got Kira with me, don’t take off any more time from work, it’s just for a few nights._

Maybe it’s his own loneliness; seeing the world move on as he repeats a cycle of going to work, therapy, the gym, and an occasional happy hour with acquaintances. He’s run through a decade (and more) of anger, frustration, loss, and grief - misplaced or otherwise - and now it feels like there’s nothing left to burn through. He thinks about how - through it all - the only thing that really made sense was his perpetual interest in architecture; something about the way a structure can hold so much history and the different uses it can mean to different people. A sign perhaps, that after all these years of pushing his own past away, the house still stands - a strong, lonely reminder, ripe with possibility. _Maybe I’m a phoenix_ , he thinks tipsy on whiskey one night, _finally ready to rise from the ashes again._

He’s never felt like a true Organa (or Skywalker, or Solo even though they’re all his names in a way), but now there’s something about the house that calls to him on a primal level. _Let the past die,_ he had once believed, but now he finds himself longing for reconciliation, a fresh start. A desire to make things right perhaps; that old yearning, always restlessly searching for a home without knowing that’s what he wanted. He thinks about the house - a family home, steeped in mystery - thinks about fresh chances and new beginnings even with embracing the old. And so he starts to plan, heart feeling lighter than it has in a long time. 

A few weeks later, when Ben gets out of his car and takes his first steps onto the property, he’s hit by a sudden magnetic feeling; a force that he can’t pin down, but in some strange way it feels right. 

Maybe...this could be home.

= = = = =

The house has been empty for far too long. Rey should be used to it - the dust suspended in the still air around and within, the silence amongst halls that (at different periods of time) had once echoed with both delight and misery, the waiting.

(Rey’s good at waiting, but it doesn’t mean she likes it.)

The passage of time is lost to her when her walls are empty. Rey doesn’t even really know at what point she truly began - but humans! Humans live such long yet simultaneously fleeting lives. They’re how she can tell how long it’s been; seeing them grow, giggle, draw on the walls as toddlers to clumsy adolescents sneaking their first sips of liquor in the middle of the night to adults - laughing, cooking, making love, throwing parties, aching bones...then the cycle sometimes begins anew. And she, always there, always watching, always feeling; an energy, a force binding all of them together. The house and them.

She remembers the Organas. She thinks, in a way, it was them who helped her become who she is. The sheer love rippling between Bail and Breha - adoration for each other, adoration for their work in the outside world, adoration for this space, adoration for their daughter...it nearly made the house burst and turned it into a home. 

Finca de los Reyes - they had named it, her. Because, although titles didn’t mean much anymore, the Organas had descended from a noble family. Building the home had taken both money and labor, given that it was situated strangely on a cliff abutting the Andrasha River. Others felt wary; yet from the moment the Organas moved in, the dark Victorian space was filled with life. And so Rey took that on, soaked it up - the effort, the love, this family who made her space their home, that name - and it felt right.

It’s been decades since the Organas last lived here - killed tragically, supposedly in a car accident, but the walls heard whispers amongst the help of something more suspect. Their daughter - young Leia, little precocious Leia, once upon a time - had come home filled with a quiet rage and a deep ache in her soul and had left shortly thereafter, leaving her and her walls in the hands of an old family friend, Ben Kenobi. Eventually, much of the help was let go too; but Old Ben tended to the house with a quiet, steady grace. He liked to garden, making good use of the grounds and the greenhouse after years of living alone doing research in the Tatooine desert. He took care of the old Organa home and in turn, Rey took care of him.

He was lonely (Rey could tell; it was a feeling her walls had grown familiar with as well, in the aftermath of grief), but every so often friends would come for short visits or Ben would leave to visit them. Leia (and her swaggering, but sweet husband, and her soft, curious son - Little Ben - who loved the blue butterflies which appeared seasonally) only came to visit once after the death of her parents, that brief last summer of Old Ben’s life. The walls ached when he passed away from old age; the greenhouse was left untouched, growing wild, and Rey couldn’t think of any reason to change that.

And then, she was left alone. Until - what seemed like eons later, must have been decades - an older woman returned with a younger companion. Only...she was Leia, not so little anymore, but still dignified. A bit more weary (and sick, she would soon learn, from the medications that had her rushing to the toilet with her nurse, Kira, looking after her), but that tilt of her chin and keen eyes and hair in braids - that _was_ Leia Organa. And Rey would have wept if she were human, in both sadness and in joy. For she didn’t know how long this woman - who she had seen grow to young adulthood in a home filled with joy and then missed in the lonely years after - would be with her.

The night that Leia dies is a mix of odd emotions for Rey. There is sadness, yes, but also a strange gladness. Leia goes peacefully; she had wanted to die in these walls, Rey knows. It leaves her with some level of comfort that Leia returned to her, to the house where she belonged, in her final days.

***

It’s a crisp fall day when the air shifts and the ground rumbles lightly on the property. A medium-sized U-Haul truck pulls up to the front of the house, followed by a smaller vehicle. A man with curly dark hair peppered with some greys hops out spryly from the truck, immediately opening the back for unloading. 

Another man - taller and broader, maybe younger than the first but only slightly, slowly gets out of his car. Rey is slightly awake now, curiosity conflicting with caution. A new family, maybe? Since Leia died, nobody had been back to the house in three seasons. Rey lets her walls relax a bit; a tender excitement blossoming that makes its way into the soil.

The two men start to chat and Rey’s attention is caught by what the curly-haired man says.

“Alright Solo, let’s get this thing going, and then you owe me at least a few beers.”

Solo. _Solo._ S o l o. 

(That had been the name of Leia’s husband; the one who died.)

Solo grumbles, using one of his large hands to push the hair out of his face. While she doesn’t have eyes the way humans do, she can sense and “see” in a fashion through the energy of the house’s structure and the property surrounding it.

He has a large nose and plush, slightly sulky lips. A proud chin and dark, knowing eyes are surrounded by a cascade of lush dark hair almost the color of her rich soil. This massive man does not take after either of his parents distinctly; and yet, his features are strangely a perfect mix of them. He is Han Solo and Little-Old Leia’s son. Little Ben - from that one summer - Little Ben who followed the butterflies, who had terrors in the night that she tried to soothe. 

Rey calculates this, accepts this, and inhales it in. Ben who Leia spoke of with regret, Ben who didn’t want to take her calls initially. Rey is torn between anger (both on behalf of the boy and at the man) and desire. She is Finca de los Reyes, she is his home. And just by the way he walks onto the property (mindfully, but with energy of peace and purpose) she abruptly realizes that she is no longer alone. It’s a heady, lush feeling. 

The house starts slowly coming back to life as Ben and his friend fill it with his things. There’s not much, but by the time they haul in a new couch, a mattress, and some bulky office materials, both men are sweaty. Ben lifts the edge of his shirt to wipe some of the perspiration off his forehead, revealing a small, slightly soft underbelly below more sculpted muscles. She can feel his regret mixed with a little bit of self-deprecating anger, but she can also feel his intrigue and excitement as his roving, thoughtful eyes take in the interior of the house. 

And so Rey watches and waits, a tentative yearning blooming at her core.


	3. The Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is by QueenOfCarrotFlowers
> 
> A content warning for kinda dubcon, because Ben thinks he's dreaming through most of this - but what he does, he does willingly.
> 
> Next update will be Friday, October 23rd
> 
> Enjoy!

The first week that Ben spends as an adult in Finca de los Reyes is alternately stressful and calming. Stressful because on top of the move - organizing the house, figuring out a new schedule - he still has to drive into the office every day of the week. The year before, in his mother’s last months, Ben had pleaded with Snoke to cut his hours, to give him time that he might spend with her before she was gone. The old man had promised and promised but had never seen that promise through - not until now. Now that Leia is long dead and buried Snoke has finally promised to cut Ben’s hours so he only has to come into the office one day a week. Ben had never gotten on well with his boss, but he now harbors a loathing for the man, and although he resents it he’ll take the new schedule. He still has to find a spot in the house to set up his workspace, but hopefully this first week will be the worst and then he'll be able to relax a bit more.

But he has to admit to himself that aside from work, the move is really great. The neighbors aren't close, and the house is set back from the road (it probably doesn't make a difference anyway, since the road isn't busy) so the house is quiet, the garden and lawn is peaceful, and from the back of the house he has a beautiful view down to the river.

And then there's the house itself. It's old, but it's been well cared for over the years. It isn't especially beautiful but there's something about it that draws Ben to it. On Sunday, the day after he moves in, he spends hours wandering the space, just… getting acquainted, he supposes. He walks through every room and touches the doors, the walls, the windows, taking in the architectural detail, admiring how well-built the house is. He traces his fingertips over the designs on the wallpaper in the hallway, the lines between tiles in the bathrooms, over the spines of books in the library. He walks up the main staircase, makes his way up to the attic, then down the back staircase to the kitchen, and is stymied once he reaches the door to the basement. Apparently he lacks a key; it isn't on the little keyring provided to him by Ms. Maz Kanata, JD, nor is it on the large ring that hangs on the hook next to the door that leads from the kitchen to the garden. It doesn't matter; the water heater and fuse box are in a closet off the kitchen, and whatever is in the basement, he can get to it later.

On Monday he's back across the river to the city, leaving early to make it in on time, and he can't explain it, but when he arrives home after work he feels welcome, as though the house is happy to see him. It's ridiculous, but Ben hasn't felt anything like that since he was a very small child, when his dad would be waiting for him to get off the bus, and would hold his little hand and ask him about his day as they walked up the driveway together. Ben doesn't tell the house about his day, that would be silly, but maybe he thinks about it.

He attempts to keep to some kind of schedule. So in the evening he cooks himself dinner, eats it at the kitchen table, then after washing the dishes he pours himself a glass of whiskey and sits in the living room to read until about 10 p.m. After that he takes a quick shower in the en-suite bathroom and tucks himself into bed, turning off the light around 11 p.m. If he doesn’t fall asleep immediately, he allows himself to read in bed, but under no circumstances does he stay up later than midnight, even if he simply lays in bed with his eyes closed until he eventually passes out - and he will always eventually pass out. The next morning his alarm clock goes off at 6 a.m., and Ben hits the snooze bar exactly once before getting up, getting dressed, and going downstairs for breakfast.

By the second week Ben is more steady, which he attributes to his strict schedule and to Snoke settling on Thursday as his one day to come into the office for the foreseeable future. The new schedule gives him more time to work on Ackbar’s project from home, which is good but also stressful. Ben has to push himself to get work for both projects finished between breakfast and dinner time without waking up earlier or working later, both of which he steadfastly refuses to do. 

The stress of the situation is what Ben blames initially for the dreams.

He has the first dream on the Tuesday night of his second week in the house, after a long and stressful day that he should have spent working on Ackbar’s project but which instead he spent on and off the phone with Snoke talking about the Hutt Corp. contract. He lays down as usual at 11 p.m., falling asleep within minutes, exhausted. He wakes up unusually refreshed, and it’s not until he’s cooking breakfast and decides to take the time to make some eggs instead of his usual bowl of plain oatmeal that he remembers the dream.

The master bedroom has only been lightly renovated since the house was built. Ben knows that the en suite bathroom was built out of a dressing room sometime in the 1890s, with small changes - an updated toilet, new floor tile to cover what was lost after some long-forgotten flood - but the floors, walls, and baseboards of the bedroom itself are original, as far as Ben can tell. The wallpaper is, too. It’s quite faded, after years of sunlight, but even so the details are still visible, especially the on wall that holds the windows, as it’s been untouched by direct light. It’s a William Morris print, which features green vines on which grow a variety of fruits, lemons and peaches and others, along with a variety of blooms. Ben likes the wallpaper, and sometimes at night after he’s done reading and before he turns off his lamp he lays in bed and watches it. If he breathes deeply enough, lets his eyes relax, he can almost imagine that the pattern on the wallpaper is moving.

In Ben’s dream, the wallpaper moves. Dream-Ben stands in the corner of the bedroom, facing the outside wall, the window off to his right and the other wall close to his elbow. He watches the vines shift and play across the surface of the wall, the fruits twirl on their stems, the flower blooms wave in an invisible breeze. He reaches out and sets his fingertips against the wallpaper and feels nothing but the cool smoothness of paper over plaster. The vines twist more rapidly where he touches them, and he slowly pushes his hand further up the wall and laughs as the vines follow it up, dragging the fruits and flowers along with them. He feels light in his dream, happy, and there’s an aura of playfulness around him that he knows isn’t his - it’s the house. The house is playing with him, and it is having fun too.

He does this for a while, almost hypnotized, amazed at the lucidity of the dream. Eventually one of the fruits - a persimmon, he thinks, that’s about at his chest-level - turns around so the bottom of it faces him, and _opens_. Not like a mouth, hinged, but a hole appears, first a pinprick, and then it slowly grows larger, expanding until it’s about an inch across. Unlike the rest of the wallpaper, the hole has depth. Dream-Ben crouches slightly to look into the hole, but the room is dark - the only light is the moonlight shining in from outside - and all he can see inside it is blackness. 

Since he’s dreaming there’s no harm in sticking his finger into the hole, so that’s what he does. At first it feels like what he imagines sticking his finger into a hole in the wall would feel like, stiff and a bit chilly, but as he prods the hole with his finger and his brain contemplates the sensations, the sensations change. It grows a bit softer, a bit warmer, and Dream-Ben leans against the wall, his wide left palm spread over dancing vines while the middle finger of his right hand slowly presses into the hole in the persimmon, and just as slowly pulls back out again. It’s almost obscene, and Ben is a bit shocked to find that his dream self’s cock is half-hard in his sleeping shorts. He moans, the vines cavort, and inside the hole something nips his finger. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to shock him into pulling it out. That’s when the dream ends.

Ben contemplates the dream over eggs and toast and coffee, and figures it’s been too damn long since he’s gotten laid. He should download one of those dating apps or something. That makes him think about his mom, how every time he saw her she would ask him if he was seeing someone, and he blinks back the tears, swallows the lump in his throat and makes his way to the workstation he’s set up in the far corner of the living room, where he gets the best light.

That night, Wednesday, at 11 p.m., instead of following his regular routine, Ben lays on his back on top of the bedclothes, pulls his sleep shorts down his hips, and masturbates. He should have done it in the shower, it would have been easier and less messy, but it isn’t until he gets in bed and turns to look in the corner of the room, at the wallpaper there, that he remembers the dream from the night before. The hole in the wall, its softness and warmth around his finger. The playfulness of the vines, the dancing fruit and flowers. How nice it felt to have _fun_ , to have connection, to feel like he was part of something. He quickly reaches his climax, cum pooling on his stomach, and he waddles to the bathroom to clean up before throwing himself in bed and falling asleep immediately.

When Ben becomes aware that he’s dreaming again he’s back in the corner, staring at the wallpaper. It’s happy to see him again, he can tell because of the way the vines move and the fruits and flowers dance, and how the persimmons - two of them this time - immediately turn around and open little holes in the wall. They’re a bit larger this time, and Dream-Ben doesn’t hesitate to stick a finger into the one closest to his right hand. This time it sucks his finger in, all the way to the knuckle on his hand. It’s even warmer and softer than it was in the previous dream, but it’s also firm beneath the softness and slightly moist. Once it has his finger it, for lack of a better word, _suckles_ it, the walls of the hole tightening and then loosening, a steady movement that feels so good that it threatens to bring him to his knees.

“Fuck,” Dream-Ben moans, and the vines on the wallpaper shudder. He eyes the second hole, which seems to be waiting patiently at chest-height. “Why not?” He says to himself. “It’s only a dream, right?” The vines shake, the fruits and flowers shimmy, and he can almost imagine a crystal voice laughing in the distance. Using his free hand he lifts up his tee shirt, exposes his right nipple, and sets it against the empty hole. The hole closes around him and sucks his nipple in grasping at his delicate skin and pulling it almost too hard. “Ow!” he cries. “Not so hard, please.” The hole seems to understand him, and it gives him a moment to push himself against it and the second attempt works much better. The hole sucks him in more gently, suckles on his nipple, massages the soft tissue of his breast. It’s divine, and Dream-Ben is a little surprised that the excitement of it doesn’t wake him up. He stays like that for a few minutes, pressed against the wall with the holes sucking his finger and his nipple, the plants dancing around his body. It’s only when he reaches for his cock - hard, heavy, and leaking a spot onto the front of his sleep shorts, that everything turns sideways and the dream suddenly ends.

Thursday is Ben’s day to drive into the office to work with Snoke, and after the dream he wakes up once again unusually refreshed. Driving across the river that day feels different from how it has before, like he’s leaving the magic of the house and returning to the real world, and he finds it lacking. By the end of the day he’s exhausted and drained, and as he drives back over the bridge in the sloping light of the setting sun something settles in his bones. It’s so good when he finally walks in the front door of the house. There’s an aura of welcome, like he belongs there, and he takes a moment to stand in the front hall and just sense the house around him. He considers yelling a greeting, but doesn’t because that would be childish and silly. He wonders if he ever yelled greetings into the house the hazy golden summer they visited when he was young, and decided that he probably did. He wonders if the house wanted to greet him back. Then he goes into the kitchen and makes his dinner.

Before bed Ben showers as usual, and this time he remembers to masturbate while he’s there. The shower is attached to an old metal cage that surrounds the front of the claw-foot tub - Ben thinks it’s probably original, although it’s been refinished - and he grips the cold bars with his left hand while he works his cock with his right, warm water showering him from above. He thinks about the holes, sucking on his finger and his nipple, and how amazing it would be to have a hole for his cock. He _really_ needs to get laid, he decides as he dries himself off after watching his cum circle down the drain. Tomorrow he’ll download one of those dating apps; he really will.

Thursday night’s dream begins as usual; Dream-Ben in the corner, the vines and fruits and flowers on the wallpaper dancing with joy that he’s finally there to play with them. He’s happy too, and he becomes even more happy when he sees that there are now three persimmons, set in a rough triangle - two at chest height and one, slightly wider, right at the level of his hips.

“You _minx_ ,” he breathes, rubbing his palms against the paper and taking pleasure in how the vines chase his hands up and down the wall. “You knew exactly what I wanted. You’re going to take care of me, aren’t you.” The vines shudder and the fruits and flowers shake, and Ben imagines again that voice of crystal, laughing with joy. He’s half-hard from the situation alone, but he doesn’t hesitate to tug down the front of his sleep shorts, pull out his cock, and slip it into the warm, soft, firmness of the bottom hole.

It sucks him right in, exactly as it had done with his finger and his nipple. It’s better than anything Ben’s ever stuck his cock in before, any mouth or cunt or ass; like it was made for him. The walls of the hole tug and squeeze until Dream-Ben is almost out of his mind. He’d forgotten about the other holes, but his body hadn’t, and he finds himself completely flush with the wall, the holes sucking his cock and nipples until he finally comes with a shout. The hole grips his cock tightly, milking him until he can’t come any more, and then it lets him go and he slumps back, collapsing on the ground with a satisfied sigh.

When Ben wakes up in the morning he’s surprised to find that he’s not in bed; he apparently spent the night curled up in the corner, under the wallpaper that looks faded and old in the dim light of morning. He thinks that’s odd, but he used to sleepwalk sometimes when he was young so it’s not the strangest thing that’s happened to him. He gets up and goes about the day. He has the dream again on Friday night, the dancing vines and the crystal laugh and those glorious holes that make him feel so good. He wakes up refreshed again, but he does find it slightly disconcerting that he’s had the same dream several nights in a row. It’s only happened since he moved into the house - maybe the dream is happening because of the house. It’s something worth looking into, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter author is @flowerofcarrots on Twitter, come talk to me about wallpaper!


	4. The Library

One of Ben’s strengths is his ability to research a topic thoroughly. It’s part of what makes him so good at his job, because architecture isn’t exactly something you can half-ass. So when he starts looking for answers as to the mystery of why he’s having such oddly specific dreams about the house, he heads to the library.

He’s never had a personal library before, although he has a decent-sized book collection. When he inherited the house, he was excited to learn that it contained a library full of books, although his first look through the selection when he moved in left him feeling less than impressed. But given the mysteries that this house contains, maybe there’s something useful in the library. The diary of a former owner, perhaps.

So he sets aside time on Saturday to dive deeper into the library’s contents. The books within easy reach all make him roll his eyes, mass-produced drivel that he can’t picture his mother enjoying. The idea that she’d willingly read _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ or _Twilight_ is so absurd that Ben actually laughs aloud as he tosses the books into the library donation bin.

He spends hours going through the books that appear to be sorted into a system that only made sense to whomever organized the library, because he can’t fathom why he finds various books from _The Babysitters Club_ series hidden at random throughout the shelves. It’s disconcerting to realize that the library only contains the prime number entries in that series; the suggestion that someone went to the trouble of hunting down specific copies of a tween book series that was popular two decades ago makes him rather uncomfortable. Ben is no stranger to sudden fixation, but this one is just bizarre.

There are some books that look to be worth keeping around. He’s always meant to read _War and Peace_ at some point, and he’s curious to see if _The Catcher in the Rye_ is as good now as it was when he was a teenager.

Interestingly, the books he doesn’t recognize outweigh the ones he does. Ben has always thought of himself as a well-read individual, but there are books that are some combination of obscure and niche, not all of which appeal to him. He stumbles upon an entire shelf of obscure historical erotica and backs away, blushing furiously as he tries not to wonder who was the original collector of those novels.

His search goes into Sunday after another pleasurable dream about the walls; he figures he may as well clean out anything that can be donated to the library’s book sale while he’s looking for answers in his own personal library. It’s not until he pulls a journal out from a shelf on Sunday afternoon that he starts to feel like he’s got a hang of this, except that it’s not much of a lead because it turns out to be completely blank. The only hint that it’s been used at all are the remnants of a couple of pages that have been ripped out. Damn. 

“So much for finding answers here,” he mutters to the shelves around him. On the bright side, he’s found a new journal just in time to finish the old one.

_There’s something strange about this house,_ he writes in his first entry. _I’ve been having incredibly vivid, oddly specific dreams about the walls that are just as pleasurable as they are strange, but I have no other explanation for them._

His second entry begins with: _I had another one of the dreams last night, but I can’t find any “evidence” as to whether it actually happened. I’m not sure if that’s actually reassuring._

The third entry is a simple _What the fuck._

He starts to confess secrets about his experiences with the house and how he’s discovering that there’s a part of him that enjoys this. Not so much that he’s going to willingly look for “people fucking walls” porn—even with incognito mode, who knows how his browsing history is being tracked?—but he starts looking forward to the dreams that might not actually be dreams.

A week after finding the journal, he’s describing the latest wallfucking dream and he zones out for a minute, trying to find the right words. When he looks down, he’s so shocked at the sight of the words he’s just written that he falls out of his chair.

_**I’m glad you like the walls.** _

Okay, is this some sort of, like, _Fight Club_ bullshit where he’s suddenly developed a dissociative disorder and now he’s going to beat himself up like Edward Norton?

Well, no, probably not. If he had dissociative identity disorder, he probably would have discovered it long before now. He’s had enough therapy to know that. But it doesn’t explain why he wrote something he has no memory of writing, nor does it explain why it doesn’t even look like it’s in his handwriting.

Feeling a bit like Harry Potter writing in Tom Riddle’s diary, he writes, _Who are you?_ and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He gets no response and after an hour of sitting around with a pen held gingerly in his hand, he gives up. Maybe it was a fluke, after all the time he’s spent obsessing about the house.

But then he’s jotting down a thought early the next morning while half asleep and when he looks up, it’s happened again.

_**I made them just for you.** _

Well, fuck. Maybe he needs to go back to therapy, after all.

Later on that evening, the ghost, spirit, whatever it is that’s possessing him takes over again, except that Ben is conscious of it this time. He hasn’t zoned out at all, but his right hand has started moving, tracing letters over the pages of the journal in handwriting that is not Ben’s own. It’s jerky, like the writer hasn’t had much practice holding a pen. Ben forces himself to relax and let his hand do its own thing until the sentence is complete.

_**You did so well with them.** _

There’s a pause where his hand stops moving of its own accord, so Ben asks a question.

_B: Who are you?_

He only has to wait a minute for the presence to resume control of his hand as it answers.

_**I’m someone who’s interested in your pleasure.** _

Ben’s cheeks burn as he thinks about what he’s already written about his weird erotic experiences as of late.

_**Don’t be embarrassed** ,_ the presence continues. _**I like it. I want to see more of it.**_

Despite his better judgement, he decides to play along. _More of what?_ he writes.

_**More of you. More of your pleasure.** _

_B: How do you mean?_

_**Think about the “dreams.” Think about how good they make you feel. You’re getting hard thinking about it, aren’t you? You’d like to touch yourself, wouldn’t you?** _

He’s rubbing his cock over his jeans with his free hand before the message even finishes writing itself.

What the hell?

His writing hand is still moving.

_**Stop touching yourself. You’re not allowed to come until I say you can.** _

Aloud, he says, “I don’t take instructions from a ghost,” but he’s already pulled his hand away from his cock that’s straining even harder in his jeans now that he’s being told he can’t touch it.

_**I’m not a ghost.** _

“Then what are you?” he asks, abandoning all attempts at writing his own thoughts down and instead waiting for the next set of instructions.

_**I told you. I’m someone who’s interested in your pleasure.** _

“That’s not an answer,” he says to the room around him. It seems much less empty than before, somehow. It’s unsettling, but surprisingly not scary.

_**Do you want me to tell you how to come or not?** _

The question is so blunt it throws him for a loop, but his cock actually _throbs_ when he thinks about the idea of being told how to touch himself.

His hand is moving again.

_**I thought so. Unzip your jeans and palm yourself, but don’t actually take out your cock. Not until I say so.** _

There’s a momentary struggle where he’s trying to unfasten his belt and jeans with one hand so that he doesn’t risk missing any instructions. Whatever’s possessing him, he hopes that his one-handed pants struggle doesn’t make it change its mind. He can’t wait to read what it tells him to do next.

_**You’re wondering what I’m going to tell you next, aren’t you? The anticipation is driving shivers up your spine.** _

“Yes,” he answers, fingers itching to reach for his cock. But no, not yet. Not until he’s instructed to. The anticipation only serves to make him even harder, something he hopes whatever is possessing him knows.

_**I’m not going to tell you to touch your cock yet. It will come in time, don’t you worry. First, I want you to unbutton your shirt.** _

“With one hand?” he asks, trying to estimate how long it will take him to complete.

_**You can let go of the pen for now, but pick it back up again as soon as you’re done. I can’t move it on my own. Only through you.** _

“Is writing the only thing you can do while you possess my hand?” he asks as he scrambles to unbutton his shirt, nearly popping a button off in his haste. He’s not certain that whatever he’s talking to can actually see him, but he makes a show of baring his chest and stomach anyway. The horny dream wall certainly seems to like it.

He gets an answer as soon as he picks up the pen again.

_**For now.** _

_Is that a promise or a threat?_ he nearly asks. He’s afraid to know the answer; he’s not sure which one he’d rather it be.

_**Now, run your hands along your chest and stomach. Lightly, just enough to tease yourself. Trace the ridges of every muscle. Tease yourself as you trace along your lower belly, then slowly make your way up to your chest.** _

Ben has never taken the time to do this to himself. It hasn’t occurred to him that this might be fun, or that it was possible to have some foreplay with yourself. But he’s unable to deny how much harder it makes him to take his time exploring his own body under the instructions of a ghost or a spirit or a whatever-the-fuck-this-is. He doesn’t stop until his hand is resting on his chest, awaiting the next instructions.

_**I know how sensitive your nipples are, Ben. Would you like to play with them?** _

“How do you know my name?” Should he be disturbed? Or should he be disturbed that he isn’t disturbed by the fact that this thing knows his name?

_**I’ve been watching you. Answer the question.** _

“Yes,” he says, fingers itching to recreate the stimulation he’s felt in his dreams.

_**Excellent. I want you to take one between your thumb and index finger and pinch. Hard. I want to hear you gasp.** _

He does and _oh_ , he couldn’t stop himself from gasping even if he wanted to. “Why have I never done this before?” he asks, and he swears he feels the being possessing his hand smile.

_**Because you’ve never had me to instruct you. I can’t experience this myself, not in my current form, but I enjoy watching you experience it.** _

His right hand is still on the desk, awaiting instructions, but his left crosses his chest to pinch his other nipple. This time, he puts more pressure into it, eliciting a gasp that’s practically a moan. “Do you like watching me try something new?” he asks, genuinely curious.

_**Yes. Very much so.** _

That pinprick of pain is nearly distracting enough to make him forget how much his cock is aching for relief right now, but when the moment passes, it just makes him ache even worse. He shifts in his seat slightly, wondering when he’ll finally be instructed to take care of it.

_**How hard are you right now, Ben?** _

“So hard,” he says breathlessly. He’s debating asking if he can touch himself. Would this being like that, or does it prefer him to be patient and unquestioning? He’s rewarded before he has to make a decision when his hand starts moving again.

_**Good. I want you to be leaking for me.** _

“I am, believe me.”

_**I do. You have permission to touch yourself now, but only if you do as I say.** _

“Whatever you want.” He’s unable to hide the relief in his voice, and he doesn’t waste a second before gripping his cock and starting to stroke.

His other hand twitches hard enough to make him freeze mid-stroke.

_**Patience. For now, I want you to take one finger and rub the head of your cock. Get it slick with precum. You’ll thank me for it later.** _

This is something he’s familiar with, but he doesn’t tell the ghost that. Instead, he does his best to make a show of how well he’s following instructions, moaning as he spreads his precum all over the sensitive head of his cock, doing his best to relieve the ache that’s becoming almost unbearable. He didn’t know it was possible to make himself feel this good...and he has no idea if it’s simply because of the teasing, or if it’s because he’s being told what to do.

_**Beautiful. I am no expert, but I’ve seen naked humans many times. None of them have ever looked as good as you do right now.** _

That makes him wonder what kind of spirit this is and how long it’s been around humans, but that curiosity is overshadowed by the shiver of pleasure he feels at the praise. From a ghost. Or whatever; who cares right now?

_**You’re doing so well, Ben. I think it’s time for a reward.** _

Thank fuck, it’s going to let him really get going.

_**Lick your palm. Get it nice and slick. You’ll appreciate the extra lubrication.** _

He does as he’s told, licking a strip from his wrist to the tips of his fingers.

_**Now wrap your hand around your cock, but not too tight. I want you at a pace that’s just this side of teasing, a relaxed grip and slow strokes.** _

It’s torture to keep himself from speeding up, but he does his best to keep a steady pace. This isn’t the first time he’s used some sort of lubrication, but he’s never used his own spit before. It’s a little gross, but he finds he enjoys how dirty he feels. “Fuck,” he hisses as he starts to feel the familiar pressure build. “ _Fuck_ , that feels good.”

_**Aren’t you glad you’re following my instructions?** _

He can practically hear how pleased the spirit is.

“Yes,” he says, the word half-swallowed by a moan.

_**You want to come, don’t you?** _

“Fuck, yes,” he gasps.

_**Bring yourself right to the edge, but don’t fall off yet. Not until I say you can.** _

“Goddamnit,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s _so close_ that he’s willing to beg a ghost to let him come. He may question this entire situation later and chalk it up to some weird fever dream—write it off like the wall dreams that he’s not entirely certain actually are dreams—but right now, in the moment, he’s following every word this being is giving him.

_**Let go of your cock and slowly run your fingers over your balls. Can you feel how badly they want to come?** _

He doesn’t need any more reminders of how on-edge he is, but he does as he’s told. “Yes,” he says, moaning as he runs his fingers over the sensitive skin.

_**You’ve been so good for me, Ben. I’ve really enjoyed watching you follow my instructions so carefully. I think you’re ready for a reward. Don’t you?** _

He takes that as his cue to start begging. “Yes, please,” he says, too far gone to feel ashamed of how the words come out as a whine. “I need to come so badly. I can’t take any more of this. It feels so good, but it’s torture, having to hold off like this.”

Somehow he feels the satisfaction the spirit has at the sight of him begging for attention.

_**That’s it. I want to see you desperate for me, even if you can’t see me the way I want you to right now. I want you to think back on this later and remember how I made you feel. Can you promise me that?** _

Despite how strange this whole situation is, he’s quick to swear he’ll remember this later on. It gets choked off into a moan, but he must get the intention across somehow, because he finally receives the instructions he’s been waiting for.

_**Good. You’ve been so good, letting me play with you like this. Wrap your hand around your cock one last time. Stroke, now. As fast and as hard as you can take it. I want to see you come, and I want it now. Lean back in your seat. I want to see you covered in your own cum.** _

He doesn’t have to be told twice now that he’s allowed to give in to his body’s needs. In less than a minute of furious stroking, he lets out a groan loud enough to be heard through the entire house as he spills all over his stomach and chest. He doesn’t stop until he hits the point of overstimulation, at which point he flops back in the chair, panting as he waits for his heartbeat to come back down to a reasonable pace.

The hand holding the pen is still balanced on the desk, awaiting more instructions, but he realizes as soon as he comes down enough to be capable of rational thought that whatever had been possessing him is done with him for now, but he doesn’t think it’s disappeared completely.

He probably should be scared now that he knows he lives in a haunted house—a disconcertingly horny haunted house—but he doesn’t feel fear. At least, not the kind of fear that has him running away in terror. There’s nothing to suggest that whatever’s in this house is malevolent, and even if he did want to perform an exorcism, he’s not certain how he’d explain the situation to a priest.

If he’s being honest with himself, he likes the idea of living in a haunted house. It’s been lonely, living by himself. Maybe the ghost has been lonely, too.


	5. The Attic

Rey knows loneliness. She's observed it. She's definitely felt it, but she had not known how lonely she could feel even while having an inhabitant. Until now. The brief spurts of joy and pleasure and what she can only describe as _rightness_ that she feels while interacting with Ben Solo seem to only emphasize the void between them as he goes about his normal life. She had felt him inside of her when he'd fucked her walls, thrusting and gasping as she suckled him, but she knows somehow that it wasn't the same as if he'd fucked her in a human body. She had directed him to pleasure himself with his own hands, and it had been wonderful, but she wants to do it with _her_ own hands. She wants to hold him and fuck him and be held and be fucked, and today she has a plan to experience at least a little bit of that.

It's Saturday, six days after their encounter in the library, and she knows that it's a day of less work for her inhabitant. Ben will try to spend his time reading, possibly exploring her walls, and performing small repairs that always increase that growing swell of warmth she holds in the deepest part of her. Rey recalls how she'd been able to feel his care for her in the slow, caressing strokes he'd used when polishing her banister last week and turns her attention to her master bedroom. As she has been doing every day, she watches as he awakens, paying close attention to the stretch he always does that lifts his thin t-shirt up just enough to show the trail of hair leading into sweatpants that ride low on his hips. She giggles to herself when he whips his head around to stare at her wallpaper. She had caused it to dance while he wasn't quite looking, and immediately stopped once he noticed. This is one of her favorite games of late. Rey toys with him a little more until he begins to caress her walls questioningly, but she has other plans for him today. She moves her attention to the attic and lets him obliviously continue about his day while she prepares her little scene.

In the attic, Rey keeps a few of her treasures. At first, she had just been guarding some of Leia's old Barbie dolls, but they eventually became hers. They even became a part of her, and she recently discovered that she is able to control and manipulate them just as she can her more structural parts, giving her a tiny idea of what it would be like having a human body. The collection had grown past Leia's dolls, as well. Both Leia and Old Ben, while they might not have known the full extent of her, had sensed her presence and left her little gifts occasionally. Dolls, pictures, magazines, books...Ben would find that the Twilight and Babysitter's Club books he'd discarded were right back where he'd found them, in fact. Where they belong. Today, though, Rey's plans involve her dolls.

In the attic, cardboard boxes flap open. Rey recalls a moment watching Leia looking through a magazine and pausing on a picture, staring. Leia had remarked, to the empty air (and therefore Rey) what a pretty dress the woman in the picture was wearing. It had been pale pink, and and ruffley, and poofy, and covered in sparkling red strawberries. _That's what humans think is pretty. Ben will think this is pretty_. Rey focuses on the boxes and, feeling like the fairy godmother from one of the movies Leia watched as a child, transforms the faded old clothing on all of her dolls inside into an approximation of that pretty strawberry dress. She pauses briefly at the one doll with short hair, pale, sparkling skin, and no breasts. That one had been a gift from Old Ben when he saw that she'd enjoyed _Twilight_. Should Edward also have the dress? Yes. He should. His sparkly skin will go with it rather well, actually, she thinks.

Now dressed appropriately for the occasion, the dolls all climb out of the boxes. Ben has, thankfully, swept and dusted up here recently, so only a few motes of dust are stirred by their activity, dancing in the sunlight gleaming in from one small dormer window. Their dresses also catch some of this sunlight, glittering in the dim room as Rey walks them around, refamiliarizing herself with their bodies and thinking about how she will use them on Ben. Since the encounter in the library, she'd been practicing her control. It had been unexpectedly difficult to take over Ben's hand even for the small movements involved in writing. As she was far more practiced with the manipulation of non-living things, she had switched her focus to her dolls. _For now_. Their hands are small, and they are all formed from plastic with fused fingers, but she hopes that she will be able to touch him properly even though his cock is nearly as tall as the dolls themselves. She decides that they shall all be brunette, like Leia and her nurse, Kira. There are eight altogether, including Edward, but one is special. One has a voice, of sorts. It can emit a giggle and an overly cheery greeting of "Hi!" Rey, through the dolls, unearths an old blanket from the bottom of one of the boxes and arranges it on the floor against the wall, close enough to the window that it will illuminate their activities. The lead doll giggles and puts its hands on its hips, seeming to survey the scene. Rey experiments with seeing through the doll's eyes and is surprised by how much she doesn't hate the reduced field of vision. Usually she can see everything happening within her property lines if she focuses, but through the doll, she can only see what it faces. This is another taste of humanity, she feels, and she enjoys it. Now, to taste a little more…

To lure Ben up to the attic for her brilliant new plan, Rey begins creating increasingly loud thumps in the stairwell. It doesn't take long for Ben to investigate, and Rey can't help but pause her thumping and just watch him trot out from the library, still in his black t-shirt and sweats, running one hand through his dark, tousled hair as he peers up the stairs. Before he can turn around, she thumps the stairs again. Ben blinks and cautiously begins climbing the stairs.

"What is your game now, ghost?" Ben asks loudly as he climbs. How that dear man still thinks she's a ghost is beyond her. What kind of ghost makes nipple-sucking wallpaper and tells you to come? Rey experiments with rolling Edward's eyes and is pleased with the result. 

Her answer to his loud query is a series of thumps in Morse code, carefully spelling out L-E-T-S F-U-C-K.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," he mutters grumpily. Hm, he didn’t seem to get the message. She's not worried, though. He'll understand soon enough. Rey just keeps moving the thumps higher until Ben reaches the second floor landing, where he pauses, seeming to sense that something unusual is about to happen. Rey stops the thumping, and switches her attention to her dolls.

A high pitched, girlish giggle echoes down the stairs that lead to the attic. Ben freezes, his eyes wide, and he slowly turns to face the attic stairs. The giggle comes again, louder this time. "Um, hello? Is there someone up there?" he yells, perhaps a little too loudly. "Besides me and the sex ghost, that is," he mutters under his breath. Despite his words, Rey can feel his anticipation as he approaches the attic.

She sounds the giggle one more time, and Ben's head pops up from the stairwell. He quickly climbs the rest of the way in and turns around, looking for the source of the noise, and stops at the sight of her eight dolls, mostly identical except for Edward, all in their pretty, festive strawberry dresses, waiting just for him.

"Holy fuck."

"Hi!" undeterred by his initial response, Rey waves hello at Ben with all of her dolls, and the one in front speaks. This is going exactly as she planned! The dolls all gesture for him to join them on the blanket by the window, but Ben doesn't move. 

Does he not trust her? Hasn't she proven that she will bring him pleasure? Does he not want her? Was it Edward? It had better not be Edward. A loud, angry, impatient thump comes from beneath his feet, and Ben jumps a little, but thankfully he begins walking slowly towards her dolls.

"So, is this...you?" Ben asks, gesturing vaguely at the lead doll. "From the library...from my dr- from the wallpaper?"

The Rey dolls all nod in tandem, and Edward makes an equivocal movement with his hand. Rey, frustrated with her inability to communicate, rattles the entire house to try to get her point across. _This is me! This is all me!_ The dolls approach Ben and surround his feet. The dolls push at Ben's ankles to herd him onto the blanket. She'd been anticipating this for nearly a week, and Ben had been so busy with work that she'd felt she couldn't bother him. They tug on his pants, encouraging him to sit. She wants this to be special, perfect. Better than him fucking her walls. Better than his hand on his cock. 

Ben takes one last look around, and she can see him noting her pretty dresses and comfy blanket and many tiny, eager hands. He scowls briefly but then locks eyes with the lead doll. The doll from which she was currently looking up at him, begging him to join her. His face softens as he stares at her, and finally Ben sighs and sits, placing his back against the wall. Rey, through her doll's eyes, can see a bulge growing between his legs. A flash of relief goes through her, and the air in the house becomes less tense. Ben relaxes a bit more and rearranges his legs, one knee up, thighs spread in what Rey interprets as an invitation. A giggle sounds again as she approaches him, and Ben twitches in surprise.

Rey soon covers him in her dolls. One perches on each shoulder so that she can play with his thick hair. Two more pull up his shirt and run tiny plastic hands over his chest, focusing on his nipples. Three, including Edward, focus on his lower half; they climb up his legs and tug at the waist of his pants. The final doll watches from between his legs, staring fixedly up into Ben's face to gauge his reactions to her efforts, serene in her pretty strawberry dress, brown hair in a three bun arrangement she had once seen on Kira.

Ben, seeming to come to terms with what she is about to do, starts to help. He carefully removes the two dolls on his shoulders so that he can peel off his shirt, then returns them to their perches. He gasps as the dolls on his chest manage to firmly pinch his nipples, and his cock twitches in his pants. The tiny hands at his waist work more frantically to reveal his cock, and, just before he reaches to help, they manage to pull his pants down just enough to tuck the waistband under his tight balls. A small bead of precum glistens on the head of his cock as it bobs between his legs. Rey briefly wonders what it would taste like, what any part of him tastes like, but quickly buries that impossible thought to focus on the present.

Right now, she has hands. Several of them, and she is going to use them to touch Ben. Two of the three dolls at his crotch begin to explore his cock, and the third (Edward) caresses his balls, gently exploring them and the moist crevice behind them. His cock is...beautiful. Rey had, of course, noticed this before, but it is especially apparent to her now as she is currently dwarfed by it. He is thicker than two of her dolls combined, and nearly as tall. She focuses all her attention on one doll and wraps arms and legs around his straining length, hoping to feel his heat. His life.

But the feelings are faint, and her limbs aren't truly like hands or fingers. Rey can feel a seed of frustration begin to grow.

Ben is moaning and gasping, but he isn't as lost as he was in the library when using his own hand under her direction, or when he thought he was dreaming as he fucked her walls. He inches a hand towards his cock, but it’s kicked away furiously by a tiny plastic foot. Rey wants to do this herself. She can and she will.

One tiny hand dips into the precum now coating the head of his cock, and then slips very carefully, very shallowly into the leaking hole at its tip. Ben grunts, and rewards her with a spurt of more lubrication. Encouraged, the little arms and legs wrapped around his shaft squeeze, and the arms begin to move up and down. Little hands pull his hair and play with his ears, and one pointy plastic foot tickles his ass (thanks, Ed). Ben's breathing quickens, but Rey can tell there is still something missing. She needs a voice. Or a real mouth. Or a pussy. Or _hands_. The frustration grows, and she jabs a hand a little too sharply into his cock.

Ben yelps and jerks his hand towards his cock protectively. He stops short of ripping her doll off of him, but she can tell he is close. In apology, she pats and caresses him gently, hoping he understands that she doesn't want to hurt him.

"I know, I'm frustrated, too...but I don't think this is going to work," Ben's voice is gentle, but also tense. "I want to cum as badly as I think you want me to, but I need...more. You're too small, I think. I'm sorry, love."

One large, warm hand strokes the three buns in one doll's hair and trails down her dress. All of the dolls are frozen at this moment, watching him. Even Edward's sparkly head pokes out from behind his balls. Beneath her frustration, Rey can feel the little ball of warmth at her core grow yet again, and she leans into Ben's hand a little bit, trying to find comfort in what she sees as failure.

The two dolls on his cock retreat to his thighs to give him room, but the ones on his chest, shoulders, and wherever Edward was, resume their tasks. Ben sighs in relief and takes his cock in one hand, squeezing it roughly before spitting in his palm and beginning to stroke. At first, his eyes closed as he worked his shaft, but at a soft tap by one of her hands on his thigh, he opens his eyes again and stares at the doll standing between his knees. Rey shifts to view him through the doll's eyes and finally feels the connection she was craving. He was looking at _her_. Not just at a wall or some writing or wallpaper, but at her. He was acknowledging her selfhood. Her ball of warmth was overflowing, but it still couldn't cancel out her frustration.

Ben bites his lip as he continues to stare at her and stroke his cock. His movements are almost brutal, desperate. A flush forms on his chest and face, and he grunts, still looking at her. He thrusts his hips at his hand, and the head of his cock flushes a dark purple. Tiny hands pinch his nipples and a tiny foot tickles his ass, and he still looks at her, standing there, unable to do this one thing for him. His nostrils flare, and he gasps harshly before releasing a long moan and closing his eyes, lost in pleasure, breaking their connection. His cum splatters all over his chest and abs and even drips onto one of her strawberry dresses.

Rey's frustration finally boils over. All eight dolls are reverted to their tattered clothes in a blink of an eye and flung violently across the room, slamming into the wall so hard that Edward's head pops off. The cardboard boxes swirl into a furious storm and tear apart. Legos begin to pelt Ben in the face and chest, and he is finally thrown out of his shock and post-ejaculatory stupor to notice the chaos around him. His eyes like saucers, he clutches his shirt to his chest and scrambles to tuck himself into his pants while fleeing the attic.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to mess up your dress! It was really pretty!" Ben's panicked voice echoes up the stairwell and he retreats to the bathroom to clean up. Soon, he is dressed and out the door, presumably to go out and interact with other humans like himself. Her memory flashes to overlay his tall form with that of a small, solemn boy with dark tousled hair as he looks back at her and waves goodbye, leaving her feeling even more empty than she'd felt at the end of that one golden summer. 

Rey knows emptiness. She knows it very well, and she is weary of its weight. 


	6. The Bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for possessed masturbation and brief reference to nonconsensual voyeurism (House!Rey watching Ben) in this chapter. Enjoy!

The sun is already sinking behind the hills as Ben finally, _finally_ crosses the bridge over the river, leaving the city behind. There are long days at work and there are _long_ days, and today has been the latter.

Thursdays are already the worst day of the week, being the sole day he still has to work with Snoke face to face, but the aggravation is made worse by clients who don't seem to understand what they're even asking for.

Besides, this strange house is undoubtedly becoming _home_ and he finds he doesn't like being away for long stretches of time. Even as things grow stranger within, it's where he prefers to be, and he takes the steps up leading up to the door two at a time, eager to cross the threshold. Ben almost sighs with relief as he walks in, and can swear the house does too.

It's late, but Ben cooks the meal he'd already planned that morning, because the cilantro isn't going to keep much longer, and because even when he's had a hellish day like today, sticking to his schedule offers its own sort of comfort.

He mutters to himself as he cooks, and maybe to the house too, about the obnoxious client, and the project that feels like it will never be done. The Hutt Corporation, as part of its vast portfolio of properties, owns an older building - a former train station-turned-office building-turned warehouse that has seen better days. Now Hutt Corp. wants to turn it into an event center, which in itself isn't a bad idea, but the project manager Ben has been dealing with wants to gut the entire inside.

Ben isn't one for blind devotion to the past but there is something to be said for respecting historical integrity when it comes to renovating historic properties, rather than designing new builds. It's something that Ben can see throughout Finca de los Reyes, where the updates and repairs have been done in such a way as to compliment the original structure, rather than boorishly stomp all over it.

The exact opposite of the requests made by the contact for Hutt Corp., who wants a layout that will clash with the classic Beaux-Arts style, _if_ it's even structurally feasible. But the corporation has deep pockets, and several other potential future projects, which in Snoke's opinion, is the most vital aspect.

They're precisely the type of client that Ben hopes never to indulge once he's completely severed ties with Snoke's firm.

He barely tastes his dinner, and cleans up almost in a haze, his mind still spinning from work, and so he skips the library tonight and heads upstairs to shower, looking forward to letting the hot water beat the tension from his muscles and wash away his frustration.

He heads through his bedroom into the en suite bathroom, awash with the warm, tinted glow of the full moon shining through the stained glass window.

He forgoes the brighter overhead lights (tastefully recessed into the ceiling so as to not distract from the original decor of the room) and flicks on the switch for the ornate brass wall sconces, maintaining the soft, comforting ambiance of the room. The dim lighting makes for a soothing shower when unwinding before bed.

Ben disrobes and drapes his clothes on the chair by the vanity. A bathroom is usually just a bathroom, but Ben has to commend the Victorian penchant for opulence and the designers who created luxurious washrooms like this one.

The black and white tiles are perfectly aligned, and the hexagonal shape elevates the checkerboard pattern from basic to classy. The wooden wainscotting was well treated before being painted a fresh, soft eggshell and even now there is hardly any warping in the panels. The grey and plum fleur-de-lis wallpaper that covers the upper half of the walls has held up better than one might expect as well, though the textured flocking of the pattern is understandably worn by age.

And when plumbing was installed in the house, clearly the owner at the time went all-out, opting for a bidet and toilet, a free standing sink for washing up, as well as a separate sit-down vanity, and a clawfoot tub with a ribcage shower built in.

Over the years, the toilet and bidet have been replaced with models that function according to modern standards while looking the part for the room, but careful inspection of the shower reveals it to be a well-maintained original (save for a few segments of pipe, slightly brighter brass than the rest, that have been spot-replaced).

It's luxury such as this that Ben can truly appreciate, after a day like today, he reflects, as he steps in and pulls the curtain around the frame and tub. In addition to water raining down from above, jets of water shoot out from several rows of pipe, curling outward like metal "ribs" from the "spine" of the central upright pipe, earning its name.

Ben lets his shoulders sag in relaxation, and simply lets the water pound his tense muscles for several minutes before washing his hair.

His mind wanders and thoughts of his demanding client, and the train station that will likely be destroyed, fade and give way to Finca de los Reyes instead. To this beautiful, fascinating house, and what a terrible mistake tearing apart the insides would be _._ A home that deserves to be cared for, fixed-up from time to time, yes, but with respect for its history, and the details that make it unique.

Not that every historical building is quite like this one, he thinks, his mind drifting to the floral and fruit wallpaper that literally opens up to him, and the spirit that "spoke" through his pen and paper in the library. And as the memories dance through his head, he finds himself starting to grow hard.

A part of him has been wondering when the spirit or ghost (the entity insists it is not a ghost, but he doesn't know what else to call the energy that moves and pulses and lives within these walls) will reach out to him again. Things didn't end smoothly last time the spirit reached out to him, with the dolls upstairs, but he'd be lying if he said he isn't curious about what else is in store.

But it's been nearly a week, and things have been quiet since the night of the fit, when the ghost threw things all around the attic and shook the walls, and so there's no reason not to seek his own release now, Ben thinks, reaching for his cock with a soapy hand.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The sound is so faint, Ben absently thinks it must be rain on the window, even though that wasn't in the forecast and so he doesn't react.

_Tap, tap, rattle, THUNK._

It happens again, louder and more aggressive, and this time it is enough to make Ben jump. The pipes of the ribcage shower tremble around him.

Then, half a moment later, the pipes creak loudly, not just the ribcage water fixture, but in the walls, probably throughout the entire house.

_Nnnnn._

That sound is definitely _not_ rain pelting the window. It is not quite a word, not quite a voice but something _more_ than just water and metal winding through an old house.

 _Rattle, rattle, creeeaaak_.

In confusion, Ben extricates himself from the shower and pulls the curtain part way open.

He isn't sure what he's looking for. He hasn't even quite figured out how to process the spirit in this house; he's miles away from being able to anticipate what it will do next. But his eyes scan the room, all his senses on high alert. Steam from his hot shower fills the room.

It's on the second glance around the room that his eyes catch on the full length mirror mounted to the wall next to the sit-down vanity. It's a dramatic, ornate thing, framed with heavy cherry wood, carved with flowers and nymphs. It probably predates the plumbing, a fixture in this room in the house's earliest days, when it was only a dressing room. The glass is old, and remains a little spotted and cloudy no matter how enthusiastically Ben polishes it with Windex.

But what Ben is seeing now isn't mere distortion due to age.

It's himself he sees, but not his _reflection_ .

Ben blinks a few times but it doesn't go away. He steps out of the tub and steam coils around him like a cocoon. He crosses to the mirror, without thinking to turn off the water.

It's like watching an old film, distorted and blurred, but there is no doubt as to what he's seeing. Himself. Pressed against the wall in his bedroom, the fruit wallpaper shifting under his touch. And then it wavers and it's him, in the attic, sprawled on the floor. Another ripple and he's in the library, fisting himself with one hand while the other clutches a pen. He can hear his own moans and grunts, but only faintly, like a distant echo.

He's on the outside looking in on all these scenes and the images are incomplete - his features too soft and the edges of everything a little blurry. Suddenly the thought strikes him, that he's watching someone else's memories of him.

He lifts one hand towards the mirror, curious if he can reach through the watery looking surface, if it will open to him like the persimmons on the wallpaper did, but his palm is met with glass, cool and hard in contrast to the steamy room. Something in the walls creak and Ben knows instinctively it's the ghost responding to his touch.

The images continue to shift and replay in the mirror. Sometimes they jumble together, the dolls from the attic superimposed over the chair in the library. Sometimes they flicker with things he doesn't recognize or remember: a flicking tail, a cock protruding from an ornate carved rocking chair, a tangle of dark hair, a smattering of other thoughts and memories.

But mostly it shows him Ben, Ben, Ben. Their handful of interactions on repeat. And other times he didn't know he was being watched. Him fixing a creaky step. Working out. Cooking. Masturbating in the shower.

The montage lingers on that moment and Ben can sense the spirit's arousal, as if it's seeping into him through his hand pressed against the mirror. He takes a ragged breath. He'd barely touched himself in the shower before being interrupted and his dick is still hard - _even harder_ , watching the images of their trysts playout on the makeshift screen of the mirror.

With his one hand still pressed to the cool glass, Ben's other arm spasms suddenly and his fingers twitch.

He barely has time to wonder at the strange sensation before his arm lifts into the air, seemingly of its own volition, and swings low in front of his belly and his hand closes roughly around his shaft.

His initial confusion and shock give way to realization when the mirror wavers and trembles and he feels a pulse of pride and accomplishment - and excitement - that isn't his own.

It's the ghost, feeling gleeful and proud. Or rather, it's _the house_.

The perplexing truth blossoms suddenly in Ben's mind, without him quite understanding how. The ghost _is_ the house and the house is the ghost.

It's not a spirit of the dead, trapped inside these walls. It _is_ the walls. And the windows and floors, and wood and glass, and the memories and hopes that have filled all its years of existence. And it's _alive;_ so very, very alive.

Ben knows this as surely as he knows his own name, because the house knows this. And it's reaching inside of him somehow, just like in the library, burrowing into his mind.

No. _She's_ reaching inside of him. Her spirit is feminine, he realizes. Because he can feel that too, woven into her sense of self.

Though the projection is stronger now than in the library, when Ben had to wait for her to speak through his pen. She's getting more practiced, her power over him more pronounced.

The mirror changes again and he's seeing himself, just as he should expect to in a mirror, although a little blurry around the edges and he knows, somehow, that it means she is still using the mirror for this connection. Maybe she's watching him through it, the way he's staring at himself.

His skin is flushed, with the heat of the steamy room, and the almost overwhelming feeling of both his arousal and hers coursing through him. The black of his pupils are blown wide, overtaking the usual amber of his eyes, and his mouth hangs open as he takes heavy breaths in anticipation.

He's frozen in his own body, yet he doesn't feel trapped.

"You could do anything you want to me right now, couldn't you?" he asks his reflection, but really asking the house-spirit. "Or make me do whatever you want, it's the same difference."

In reply, she slides Ben's fist up the length of his cock and back to the base, slowly, teasingly, just once.

Ben lets out a sound that might accurately be called a whimper. He's tense, keyed up, and he wants release.

He stares at his body in the mirror, hard and waiting, and then flicks his eyes back up to his face, his expression longing and needy. Wet hair hangs in his face, water dripping down his body in little rivulets, but his lips are dry and chapped when his tongue peeks out to run over them.

He trusts the house to take care of him, the way he feels that she trusts him to take good care of her. He isn't afraid, he doesn't want her to stop. He just wants _more._

"Please," he murmurs to the mirror, aware that he's begging and not minding at all. _"Please."_

He sees his mouth twitch into a slight grin that isn't his own for just the tiniest of moments. 

And then she's stroking him in earnest. It takes a few passes for her to find her groove, using Ben's hand. Her grip is too tight for just a moment, but he winces and she softens just a fraction, as if she can feel everything that’s happening to him. She slides his thumb across his head, gathering the precum there and using it to slick his shaft and ease the friction as she jerks him.

She paints images in the mirror again, though Ben's reflection isn't gone, but rather overlaid with the pictures. It's her way of talking to him, he understands, since she can't speak without a conduit, and tell him all the filthy things she wants.

He sees himself in the bed, the sheets coiled like ropes around his limbs, and then in a dining chair, the wooden arms curved around his torso. Things she hasn't done yet, but other ideas she has for binding and touching him herself. A thrill runs through Ben at the imagery of being tied up by her.

"Anything," he moans, dropping his head and leaning his forehead against the glass. "Anything you want to do to me. 'M yours."

He's cross-eyed, this close to the mirror, but Ben sees his body wrapped in the arms and legs of another body. Since he hasn't brought anyone home since living here, he knows that one is imagination, not memory, but whether her own or his, he isn't sure.

He feels a pang of her desperation, and then his own foreign hand is stroking him faster, faster, _harder_.

Ben's breaths are coming in heavy pants now, filling the room, almost drowning out the sound of the water still running in the shower. His thighs are growing tight and tense, and he's close.

"Fuck," he utters. He can't move his body much under her control, but his other hand on the mirror flexes, wanting to hold onto something - to hold _her_ somehow. But since she's a house and he can't hold her quite how he wants to, Ben settles for inching his hand over to the heavy frame of the mirror and clutching that. The carvings of trees and branches shift a little under his touch and his fingers link into the grooves, like holding someone's hand.

The house-spirit is still working his cock, almost frantically now, and to feel his own touch, woven with her intention, and to watch it all reflected in the mirror is almost overload.

She drags his thumb along his slit again on the next pass, and he feels the familiar tightening in his balls, the tension in his belly, and then he's coming and coming and it seems to go on forever, painting the glass with his spend.

She doesn't let go until he's done, and then she caresses him with a gentle touch, ghosting over his softening cock for a moment before suddenly the connection snaps and Ben is returned to himself.

He drops to his knees in front of the mirror, legs weak. Usually this isn't quite so exhausting, but then this wasn't mere masturbation, was it? The sensation of carrying both the spirit's arousal and his own inside his body and mind was overwhelming, but something he's eager to welcome again.

The mirror wavers again and Ben knows she isn't _gone_ , even if she isn't in his head anymore. He lifts his palm to the glassy surface once more and wonders if it was as tiring for her as it was for him, and that's why she had to let go of his mind. Even moreso, he supposes - it must be more difficult to do the possessing, rather than be the possessed.

After a few more deep breaths, Ben becomes aware of the water still running all this time and he gets to his feet. As he wipes the mirror down and quickly rinses off in the now tepid shower, he recalls the bouts of frustration he felt mingling with the house-spirit's arousal, and he wishes he could somehow bring her the same depths of pleasure she's given him.

At least, he thinks, he wishes he could better understand what she is.

  
  



	7. The Front Porch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few new tags!

It’s been a frustrating few days since Rey possessed Ben’s body in the bathroom and Rey is thinking. Although she knows that Ben had an epiphany relating to her identity the other night, he seems to be ignoring his new knowledge. He hasn’t tried talking to her, and although he hasn’t been spending more time away than usual, she can tell he’s avoiding her. 

She has to make herself impossible to ignore, and since sex seems to be the best way to reach Ben that’s what she’s going to try. She’ll admit that there’s an element of selfishness to her plan. The experience in the bathroom had been satisfying - much more satisfying than trying to use the dolls - but even though she’d had full access to his pleasure, felt his orgasm along with him, it still wasn’t enough. She wanted to _feel_ Ben, to experience her own pleasure, and she also wanted to make things more pleasurable to Ben. Using his own body was good but used a lot of her energy. It was also too much like being Ben and not enough like being _with_ him. The wallpaper thing - which Ben still insisted on referring to as a dream, although he must know by now that it’s not - is the closest she’s come to really fucking him, but it’s frustrating to not be able to move. She really wishes that she had a human body… If only she were warm flesh and blood, able to feel everything, not cold wood and plaster that could only bend to his shape. Until she can work that out, she will just have to try new methods.

What she’ll try today, she’s decided, are the two stone lions that flank the front steps of the house. They aren’t very large - crouched, they don’t even reach Ben’s knee - and they’re made of stone, which Rey isn’t sure about. Although they are technically part of her she’s never tried to manipulate them before, and she’s uncertain how it will feel, both for her and for Ben. But there are two of them, and Rey’s grown confident enough in her skills that she can give them the kind of textures Ben will like. She thinks she’ll be able to feel it too, and that excites her. Finally, she can give Ben what she really wants! And she can take a little bit too. She’s still learning about pleasure - another instance where being human would really help - but maybe she can figure out a way to finagle the lions to do something for her besides simply feeling the warmth of Ben’s skin. She remembers how it had been in the bathroom, being able to feel Ben’s pleasure; it was so much stronger than anything she’d felt before. Hopefully the lions would be able to give her something approaching that.

After dinner, Ben has taken to standing behind the house and enjoying the view of the river before coming back inside to drink his whiskey and read. Oddly, instead of using the door in the kitchen - which leads to the garden and the cliff beyond - he always walks out the front door and around the house. Well, Rey thinks it’s odd, anyway, but there must be some human reason for it. Maybe he likes to look at the trees in the front, or just wants another few minutes to be outside, to stretch his legs. Whatever. The point is, Rey’s plan is to possess the lions right after dinner, join him on his walk, and try to seduce him in the grass there at the edge of the cliff. But on this day, after Ben is finished working for the day, instead of going to the kitchen and making dinner, he puts on a jacket and grabs his phone and wallet, and heads right out the front door.

It takes time to prepare for a possession, and Rey simply isn’t ready. She tries, she really does. In the minutes where Ben paces along the gravel parking area she pulls her power from the walls of the house and focuses it on the stone lions. She’s curious why he hasn’t walked around the house as usual, why he took his wallet and why he’s paying particular attention to his phone, and her curiosity is answered when a strange car winds up the driveway and Ben hops into the back seat as soon as it stops. _He’s going out for the evening!_ _Ben never goes out for the evening!_

As Rey watches the car depart, the door to Ben’s bedroom slams in frustration _._ Of course he didn’t know that he was messing with her plans, he had no way to know. Well, that’s not true, she says to herself. She could have left him a note - well, made _him_ write a note to let him know about her plan. But she’d wanted it to be a surprise. So much for surprises.

Rey slams the bedroom door again, then opens and slams all the doors on the second floor for good measure. She shakes the kitchen cabinets, but not _too_ hard - she doesn’t want to break anything, just work out some of her anger. Once she’s more calm she can see that it’s not _all_ bad - she now has more time to prepare, and of course Ben will come home eventually - she’ll just have to be ready when he does.

It’s several hours until the crunch of gravel announces the arrival of the car, and Ben along with it, and Rey is ready, excitement building as the car rolls up the driveway and comes to a stop. The sun had long gone down and Ben had the foresight to leave the porch light on, although Rey took the liberty of turning it off again to more effectively surprise him. He grumbles as he exits the car, his head hanging and shuffling unsteadily instead of walking with his usual confident gait, and he stumbles a little bit as he moves from the gravel to the flat stone of the patio. “Damn,” he mutters, then pauses to burp, his balance wavering from foot to foot as he stands there. When he looks up he’s frowning. “S’cuse me,” he mumbles, then follows up with, “Lights on? Thought I left ‘em. On. Lights on.” That’s when she decides it’s time to announce herself. She switches the light on at the same time that both lions hop down off their perches and right into Ben’s path.

“Woah,” he says, after a few seconds of blinking. “Woah. Sex House. S’this you?”

As though it could be anybody else. In reply, Rey manipulates the stone at the lions’ throats to make a noise that she hopes approximates the sound of a cat purring. There are no cats around these days, but Rey has known cats in the past, and lions are just big cats, right? She has the lions walk close to him, rub against his legs, and she’s pleased when he reaches down and pats one of them on the head. The stone is not good at conducting Ben’s heat; she can barely feel his hand on her, and her excitement wanes just a little bit.

“I hope this works better than the dolls did,” he says, and he sounds a little bit sad so Rey reaches out with one of the lions’ tongues and strokes it across the back of his hand. “Little too rough,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry about it. “Can you uhhh make it softer? Like, um,” he lowers his voice, “like you do in the wall?”

The open acknowledgement that he knows that what he does with the wallpaper isn’t a dream makes Rey happy, and she quickly softens the tongue and tries again. “Niiiiiiice,” Ben murmurs, and crouches down so he’s on the same level as the lions’ heads. She’s looking out of both of them, and from this close she can admire the color of his eyes, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the delicacy of his beauty marks across his cheeks. His eyes are a bit out of focus, bloodshot, and she can’t smell him but she thinks if she could he would smell of alcohol. He’s drunk, that explains things, but she kind of likes it; it makes him a bit softer than usual. The lions purr and lick, and he pats them and chuckles a bit before his laugh trails off into a sigh. “I went on a date tonight,” he says softly, and before he can say more, one of the lions nips at his knee. Its teeth aren’t sharp, but they're big and hard, and Ben shouts “Ow!!” and pushes it away.

“There’s no need for you to be jealous.” He pets its head again, and even though Rey can't really feel his hand, her grouchiness dissipates, just a little. “It wasn’t good. She was fine, I guess, but she didn't really get me, you know? I should've asked mom's nurse out when I had the chance." He sighs. "Anyway she had a friend at the bar, and after dinner we sat with her. They tried to include me in the conversation but I just…” he sighs, the corners of his mouth turned down, “I don’t really know how to talk to people. So instead of talking I had drinks, and I zoned out and thought…” he lets himself roll back on his heels and land on his butt, then stretches his long legs out in front of him. One of the lions crawls behind him, and the other one lays its head in his lap. “Thanks,” he says, leaning back against the hard side of the lion. “I thought about you, actually.”

Ben’s admission shakes Rey to the core. _He thought about her when he was on a date with a human woman_. That’s more than she’s ever hoped for, and she rewards him with another lick to his hand, and then she nudges the lion’s nose into his lap. She wishes she could taste and smell, but Ben hums and rubs the lion’s head encouragingly and that's nice too. 

“S’nice,” he says, and he sounds almost sleepy. Rey wonders how many drinks he’s had. Maybe too many; she knows that humans can lose their faculties if they drink too much alcohol, and aside from his single glass of whiskey every night, Ben doesn’t drink at all. Maybe they should stop. She starts to move the lion’s head away from his lap, but he surprises her by holding it there. “Please,” he says. “Don’t stop. _Please_.” Rey nudges the lion’s head against him again, hoping he understands, and raises it to its feet. The second lion scoots out from behind Ben, and he lays flat on his back, uncomplaining. The lion that had been behind him stays up by his head, nosing at his hair, which makes Ben giggle sweetly. The other lion walks down to his feet, and starts to push them apart.

“Hey, wait,” Ben says, reaching for his belt. “Let’s get these off first.” Rey makes the lion purr more loudly to let him know she understands, and waits patiently while he unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, pulls them down and kicks them into a pile on the patio. His cock is still quite soft - Rey knows that alcohol can do that to human cocks - but Rey’s confident she can do something about that. She pushes his feet apart and then pushes them up, which makes Ben bend his knees up. It takes a bit of encouragement but eventually he’s exactly where she wants him, with his legs spread wide giving her a most excellent view of his cock, balls, and the crack of his ass.

Not one to be shy, Rey quickly pushes the lion’s nose between Ben’s legs, reaching out with the tongue which she is sure is soft and warm enough now. Ben moans and shudders as she dips the tongue into his crack, and he pulls his left knee up, holding it steady in the crook of his elbow, while he wraps his other arm around the neck of the lion by his head. This movement opens him up to her even more, and she takes advantage, running the flat of the lion’s tongue across the tight muscle of his asshole again and again. She’d experimented a bit with that in the attic, with the Edward doll, but she hadn’t realized that he was so very sensitive there. It’s something to remember. 

When she finally comes up… not for air, she doesn’t need air, but she knows from the eyes of the second lion that Ben is already a mess and she wants to see what else they can get up to, she’s very pleased to see that his cock isn’t only hard, it’s red and dripping precum onto the soft skin of his tummy. She carefully has the lion step its right legs over Ben’s thigh, straddling it, and then reaches up and licks the little puddle of fluid up. She can’t taste it, she doesn’t really know what taste _is_ , but she enjoys the slight heat of it and the way it slides on the lion’s tongue.

“Finca…” he mutters into the other lion’s neck. “Finca de los Reyes. Can I call you that? I like it better than calling you Sex House.” She’d love it for him to call her _Rey_ , but anything related to the house name is fine with her. The lion by his head noses his hair, and the other one swipes the head of his cock with its tongue. He groans loudly. “I guess that’s a yes!” She tries to get his cock into the lion’s mouth, but the teeth are in the way and with everything else going on she doesn’t have the energy to change them. She's just starting to grow frustrated again when Ben nudges the lion’s head away and sits up.

“That’s not working, come on. I have an idea.”

Ben’s newfound boldness - no doubt due to his blood alcohol level and perhaps a bit to his frustration with his date - is delightful to Rey, and she pulls the lions back to see what he might have in mind. He crawls over to his discarded trousers, kneels on them, and then waves the lions back over. 

“I was thinking we could do like with the wallpaper,” he explains. “Like you, uh…” his boldness has apparently faded with having to explain, and even in the dim illumination of the light up on the porch Rey can see that he’s blushing. He hums again, and instead of trying to describe his idea he pats one of the lions and points in front of him. She has an inkling of what he’s thinking, so she moves the lion to stand in front of him, tail up. He sighs heavily. “Thank goodness you understand what I’m thinking,” he mutters, and lifts a finger up to touch the smooth bit of stone just below the lion’s tail. Rey’s had a lot of practice with this, and it turns out that opening a little hole in the backside of a stone lion isn’t too much different from opening a little hole in a persimmon on the wallpaper.

“Oh, yeah,” Ben moans, sticking his middle finger into the hole as soon as it’s wide enough for it to fit. “Oh, _yeah_. Fuckin’ my pretty Sex House through a statue. _Much_ better than that date.” She enjoys the feeling of his finger inside the lion, and a little thrill goes through her when he pulls his finger out and then plunges his cock in its place. He holds onto the lion’s hips, shuffles forward until the front of his thighs touch the back of the stone lion’s legs, and then he begins to thrust. 

It’s nice to have Ben’s cock inside the lion; it’s better than the wall, because unlike the wall, which is flat and unmoving, the lion is something he can really grip. And he does, he holds onto her lion and fucks it, using its hole - which Rey has made soft and warm and slippery, just the way she knows he likes it. With every thrust his hips hit the back of the lion, and Ben grunts with exertion and with pleasure. Rey concentrates on where they’re connected and does her best to remember how it felt for Ben when he had his orgasm the other night. It’s a lot of work, though, to concentrate both on the presentation of the lions and on generating her own pleasure out of thin air.

She stands the other lion back for a bit, Rey isn’t sure what to do with it and it’s really fine - one less thing for her to worry about - but then Ben bends over and lays across the first lion’s back, and at the same time shifts from kneeling to crouching on his feet. His knees go around the back legs of the lion, pushing them together, and the move exposes his butt and opens his crack. It’s an invitation, and Rey takes it. The free lion takes a tentative lick across Ben’s asshole, and he moans, “fuck, yes, Sex House. Finca… Reyes…” Her next licks are less tentative, more demanding, and Rey is really getting into it when Ben pauses and turns his head to look at the back lion. “Inside,” he says, his face almost wild with need. “Can you put it inside?”

Rey considers for a moment. She doesn’t think she can, although she can change the texture of the lion’s tongue, its size is dictated by the sculpture, but when she flicks the lion’s tail in frustration that gives her another idea that she thinks he’ll like just as much. She wants it hard, but not like stone… more like Ben’s own cock, which is stiff under a soft covering. It takes her just a moment to manifest a texture she thinks he’ll like, and then she makes it slippery, like the inside of her holes. First she teases Ben’s asshole with the tip of it, and when he looks back to see what she’s doing the look on his face tells her that she’s struck gold. Proud of her own ingenuity, she waits for Ben to pause his thrusting so she can slip the tip of the lion’s tail into his asshole. She holds it straight and is careful of the angle, so when Ben shifts his hips away from the lion, he impales himself on her tail.

“Ohmygodyou’reanangelorademonIdon’tknowyou’reamazingthisisamazing _fuck_ it’ssogoodsogoodsogood…” and with every “So good” that drops from Ben’s mouth, Rey preens with pride. It feels good for her, it _does_ , although it’s nothing like what she knows he’s feeling. That’s frustrating, but it’s not the worst. He feels good, after all. And he doesn’t last too much longer, eventually he comes with a shout, shooting his cum into the stone lion with an intensity she hasn’t seen from him before, and she closes up the hole as soon as he pulls out. She’s going to keep that bit of him, since she can. She’s more careful with her tail, pulling it out gently before both of the lions encourage Ben to lie down, breathless, resting his head on his trousers.

She’s tired, the evening has exhausted her, even without her own pleasure, and she will need to go back into the house to rest soon, but she takes a few minutes to lay the lions down next to Ben, to enjoy his presence and warmth for as long as she can.

“You’re incredible,” he mutters sleepily, trailing his fingertips over the hard, cool stone backs of the lions. “I wish… I wish…” Rey listens intently, and if she had breath she would have been holding it. What does he wish? That he could fuck the lions every day? That they could communicate better? Or her own wish… that she was a human too, and not a house?

Unfortunately she isn’t going to find out, at least not tonight, because Ben Solo chooses that moment to fall asleep. 

Rey finds the energy to use the lions to carry him into the house, where she lays him in the front hall and brings in a few pillows and a blanket from the living room. He’ll be fine, and if he doesn’t - or won’t - remember what happened tonight, she’ll be happy with the knowledge that he really did understand what was going on, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.

She leaves the lions in their spots next to the steps, and pulls her energy back into the core of the house - into the basement. That’s where she’ll be spending her time tomorrow. The lions were good, having that physical connection with Ben was incredible, but there was still something missing - she can’t feel pleasure the way he can. And she’s going to change that, whatever it takes.


	8. The Greenhouse

She watches him over his shoulder, at his laptop, hand stroking his cock along to the moans emitting from the speakers. Ben just had a stressful day at the office, which means that Rey gets to thoroughly enjoy his relaxation technique. She especially loves the way his moans and whimpers, all the little cries of his pleasure, how they bounce off of the walls. It makes Rey want to touch him, to make him gasp like Ben always does when he cums, his abs tightening as he arches forward. 

_Pegging_ , he had typed into the search bar, and the idea of it entrances her. They both watch as the couple puts on an act, the white set a bleak background in the video, the woman sinking a dildo into the man’s ass. She is thrilled that the last time they had together had had such an effect on him. 

Her next chance comes suddenly when he gardens in the greenhouse one weekend. The tall glass walls arch above him, encasing him in her presence. He’s so caring, tending to the leafy foliage as the golden sun hit his hair. This is one of her favorite times of the day to watch him. The way he fingers the leaves, swiping his thumb along the flesh of the plant...She wishes it was hers. 

Her plants bear many fruits for him to enjoy, from figs to papaya. The way his hands handle the fruit, slicing the flesh of it with a knife and then sucking the juice from his fingers- it makes her yearn with so much... _frustration_ that she wants to scream out, but she is muted by the walls that contain her. She loves to watch him eat the seeds out of the papaya, tongue lapping away at the nectar, his mouth buried between the lips of the sticky fruit, licking away the sweet juice…

Rey sighs, which makes the wood groan. Ben looks up, smiling to himself. He knows she is there, watching him eat. But now he gazes up at the walls and continues to devour the fruit. This time, his hand cups the front of his shorts, rubbing. The moan he lets out is _obscene_ , and she wishes she could reach out and touch him as he sits on the greenhouse floor. 

She pauses. 

She _could_ touch him again. Rey would have to concentrate on pleasuring him as she did with the lions, but taking over a living thing would be much more challenging. What is more difficult is the frustration that she feels. If only she could feel his pleasure like it was her own, to feel his hands on her...His skin wouldn’t feel the same as it did when controlling the stone. The velvety touches that her previous owners had given each other was different than what she had tried to give him. 

The easiest plant to take over was a large _Wisteria floribunda_. It is Rey’s favorite but bound to a pot so it wouldn’t spread and take over the entire greenhouse. The musk of its perfume...it is perfect for her to control. She hopes the scent will linger in his mind, so when he smells it again, he would remember her and she’d linger in his mind even more. The jealousy that she had felt when he’d come home from the date, from the time where he was even considering a relationship with a woman. 

It was difficult for her, at first, to reach out, the vines trailing across the floor. She wishes she had fingers, her own flesh to feel Ben’s with. But for now, her vines and blooms trailing up his leg would have to be enough. Ben places the papaya aside, dropping his hands to his side, sitting with his legs sprawled out on the path. One hand remains on the front of his shorts, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

She loves how bashful he looks at this moment as if he hadn’t fucked her just days before. His fingers move underneath his shorts, and she can tell he’s enjoying himself. Her vines travel up, curling around his torso, and up to his neck. She’s careful not to tighten there but to just... _rest_ her vines there. 

His breaths come in uneven gasps, she finds, when she tightens her vines around his ankle. Curiosity takes over, and she begins to explore even more of him. She can feel him, solid beneath her vines, and a trickle of excitement runs through her. Maybe this time will be different, she feels the closest yet, surrounding him in _her_. She feels the firmness of his muscle under the woody texture of the vines. Rey can feel that the uneven groves of the _Wisteria floribunda_ catch along his skin, hitting groves and divots. It feels strange, and she assumes that this will be the closest she gets to having human flesh.

She knows that the musk of the wisteria in his nose will make him ache. But what gets her attention is the way his free hand flexes in the dirt when she weaves herself into his hair. It’s hard to get a firm grasp on his locks, the hair too silky to gently hold.

She tightens her hold. 

His breath stutters, his hips arching up into his hand. 

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes closing. Ben lets his head fall back, exposing the neck that she wishes she could kiss. “Pull.”

His wish is her command, and her vines twist further in his hair, pulling it taunt. His neck stretches back further, the fibers scraping against his fragile skin. She holds him in that position, as his hand strokes along his cock. With more effort, Rey shoots out a newer vine, the soft green flesh will be gentle on the silken skin of his cock. It makes his legs shake, and his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks. Rey can nearly feel the lust has her own, but...it feels empty, like there’s something missing, making her incomplete. She takes her own pleasure in making him cum, but the yearning to feel something more is incredibly intense. And if she can’t get what she wants, then she’ll help him feel _more_. 

The next opportunity comes days later, much later. The air had started to warm outside, and it’s time to move some of the plants within her greenhouse outside to thrive. Droplets of sweat had already made Ben’s shirt damp, and to Rey’s delight, he shed it quickly after he started working.

His ass is in the air, bending as he repots a _monstera deliciosa_. Rey eyes the _zingiber zerumbet_ nearby. It’s shaped like the plastic cock that the woman had used to pleasure the man, so maybe...

Decision made. 

To get his ass exposed, she waits until he is fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a soft robe. Then she _accidentally_ lets a massive pot burst from the roots, suddenly expanding. She hopes that he thinks it’s an intruder breaking into the vulnerable glass of the greenhouse and comes running. She is thrilled when her plan works, and she gets to watch his wet, half-naked self running through her rooms to get to the mess. When he starts to bend over again, picking up the pieces of the terra cotta pot, she makes her move. Her _Epipremnum aureum_ is her pride and joy, the vines overgrowing without her influence. But tonight, Rey would use them. 

The vines wrap around his wrists, pulling him to his knees in the dirt. 

  
“So,” comes his deep voice. “You want to play?”  
  
Oh, does she ever. The vines yank at him again, pulling his chest to the dirt; his ass is framed perfectly for her. She watches his breath hitch, realizing what she’s about to do. 

“Naughty,” he says, grinning. “I see you’ve been watching me.”

She has been watching him. And she will always watch him as long as he lingers in her walls. She had seen him stretch himself out around a silvery object after their encounter on the front porch, one hand stroking his cock while the other pumped the item in and out. He had been preparing himself for her. And it's evident as she slides another vine up his legs, pulling him close until the flower of the _zingiber zerumbet_ lay between his ass cheeks. The juice leaks from its petals, running down his skin, dripping from his balls. How she wants to taste it, to taste it like he had the papaya. She wants to devour him. Perhaps being a bit rougher would allow her to finally achieve some of the ecstasies that these humans feel during their orgasm. 

The ridged fruit slips into his ass easily, his hole slipping shut around the base. Ben rests his head on the dirt path, his fingers gripping the plant in front of him. As she pulls, the fruit drags along the inside of his asshole. Rey can feel him squeeze around it, pulling juice out from the pressure. His breath hitches as she continues, in and out. She will fuck him hard enough that he will _never_ want anyone else, only her. She snakes another vine around the front of him, twisting around his cock. 

Ben stills and then starts to pleasure himself, pushing back on the fruit, and then into the silken vines around his cock. Rey feels pressure build-up within her, an unexplainable feeling settling. She can feel, yes, but is it pleasure? How she wants to writhe and moan along with him, but all she feels is his flesh against the push and pull of her plants. She’s starting to think that this isn’t what she was hoping for...Oh how she wishes she had a human body like his, it would be so much easier. 

The steady rhythm plays between them like the heady music he likes to listen to when jerking himself off. Rey wants to sway her hips along with the music with him, to grind against his cock, to make him come with her own flesh. While the _zingiber zerumbet’s_ satin is close, but the roots prevent her from reaching out, from caressing his skin like she’d read about in the romantic novels in the library. Rey wants to touch, to kiss, to adore him. The pot is binding her in a way she hadn’t felt before, the ceramic tight around her as if she is being held tightly. She wants him so badly for him to pleasure her like she has been doing for him. 

“Finca,” he breathes, interrupting her thoughts. His hips continuing the slow grind back and forth. He lifts his head. “I’m close…”

She tightens the vines around his cock. He isn’t going to come until she allows him. If she can’t feel pleasure, then he will feel her frustration right alongside her. She watches as his cock starts leaking, the pre-cum dripping on to the floor. His chest heaves, and she has watched him enough to know he’s close. She yanks the fruit of the _zingiber zerumbet_ from his asshole, leaving it gaping open. It leaves him a trembling mess, his muscles twitching as he pants. Muscles ripple along his back, moving under his skin with each shuddering breath. 

Rey is startled when he pulls away from her grasp after collecting himself, breaking the vines apart, ripping himself away from her touch. He frees his hand, moving it to his cock to finish himself off. 

“Sorry,” he pants, moving to place both hands on the ground again. His muscles twitch as Rey observes him, suddenly wishing to feel his flesh beneath her vines again, now that it’s not. “It was too much…”

Concern and guilt rushes through Rey, the shock sending cold through her to replace the lust she had felt earlier.

“Fuck,” he says, rolling on to his back. Ben’s lips are parted as he pants, every muscle coiling as he arches into his hand. “What have you done to me?”

As his hand runs through his hair, Rey wishes she could lean over him, hand between them to finish him off herself, while she tastes his lips. She watches; his hand slides up and down his shaft slowly, his eyes closed. Finally, spurts of white cum land on the greenhouse’s dirt floor, a fertilizer in its own right. 

The jealousy she feels now...She wants to experience that kind of pleasure. But nothing can help her except a body like his. Instead, she’s stuck in limbo between frustration and anger. She wants to feel another’s contact, fingers gripping hips, lips pressing against someone else’s. She is tired of watching others experience pleasure, pain, happiness, and sadness together; she wants to be part of the action. And she knows exactly what she needs to do next.

  
  
  



	9. The Basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the new tags for this chapter.
> 
> If you are bothered by necrophilia or character deaths, please read the end notes for further clarification of those tags.

There is a body in the basement. It lays just past the little apartment constructed for the live-in help, in the space that still acts as storage, in a massive freezer that is otherwise full of trout. It was rather lucky for Rey that Ben Kenobi had a knack for fishing, otherwise it would have just rotted at the base of the stairs where Kira fell.

Kira isn’t there any more. That’s why Rey doesn’t think of it as Kira’s body. Rey had been there when Leia’s caretaker tripped, as her blood pooled around her beautiful brown hair, as her spirit stood over her own body in shock. Rey wanted to be there. She knew it was important to the humans who’d lived in her walls to have someone beside them as they slipped away from the world of the living. She felt it was her duty to be a comfort to her occupants as they passed on to the next world.

“Are you okay?” She asked. It was much, much easier to speak to the spirits. They were almost the same, made of something similar, at least.

Kira’s spirit gasped and looked up, her pretty hazel eyes wide with fright. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Rey,” she said, swirling the dust and loose scraps of paper around in the middle of the room. 

“The ghost in the house,” Kira gasped, breathless even when made of only air. “I knew it. I knew this house was haunted.”

“No, I’m not like you,” Rey said. “I’ve never been a human. I’ve only been a house.”

Kira’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh.” She looked down at her body again, sorrow etched in her features. “God dammit. Life is so unfair. Why did I have to die?”

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispered as ghostly tears rolled down Kira’s now-pale cheeks. “What will you do now? Will you stay?”

Kira’s sobs grew quiet. For a moment, Rey hoped. Maybe she would have a companion, maybe she wouldn’t leave like Leia’s spirit had -after a quick spin around the grounds, to say a fond goodbye to Finca de los Reyes.  
  
“This’ll be Ben’s now, I wonder if he remembers it,” Leia had told her when she died.

“No.” Kira’s voice sounded choked and bitter, but she continued. “I don’t want to stay here. It’s too sad here. There has to be some place better than this. I want to go there.” 

Rey wanted to say something, at the very least something about how she’d tried to give all her occupants back all the love they had given her, but Kira just drifted away and off the grounds.

So the body sits in the freezer where Rey put it, waiting for someone to come calling about Kira, though no one ever showed up looking for her. The seasons have changed several times now, and Rey is thankful she moved the body. She always hated it when little animals died in her walls or out on the grounds; she wouldn’t want to know what a whole human body decomposing into the cracks of her concrete felt like. 

Besides, she knows that humans are careful with the bodies of their dead. It feels like the right thing to do.

Now that Ben’s here, now that they’ve shared so much of his pleasure while searching for her own, Rey thinks about the body in the freezer a lot more. She thinks about the women she sometimes sees on Ben’s computer, the stories she reads about in the library (some of them take far too long to get to the pleasurable parts and make her wait nearly four whole books before any sex happens, but that’s neither here nor there), and it drives her crazy with need every time she pulls herself out of her walls and into the dolls, the statues, the vines, just to feel nothing at all.   
  
Even possessing Ben- perfect, beautiful, willing Ben- only gives her an echo of what it could be like with two human bodies. Oh how she wants to know what it would be like as flesh and blood. Flesh against flesh, warm and hot like he is. 

After taking over his hand and his body, Rey thinks she can use Kira’s body. But it isn’t as easy as that. His body came attached to a living, breathing human with all his systems functioning properly already. Bodies, it seems, don’t move as easily without their humans still inside, and there are so many things that have to work all at once. 

She keeps trying though, when Ben is gone for the day or very focused on his work. He hasn’t tried yet to pick the lock on the basement door that she’s kept shut tight, too many other parts of the house to sift through first. She pushes the freezer door open and lets herself into the cold, empty body, willing with all her strength that it might warm up, that it might move. And it does, a bit at a time, but it exhausts her and then she doesn’t always have the strength to play with Ben. (And she doesn’t want to stop doing that either.) 

One day -the day that Ben is out at the place he calls work that always makes him come back grumpy- Rey succeeds.

It’s hard, very hard, but she pushes herself out of the freezer and onto wobbly legs. She clings to boxes and walls as she stumbles, and eventually finds herself sitting on the bed in Kira’s old bedroom in front of the mirror. 

As she gazes at her new reflection, Rey can feel how drops of water trickle down her skin. She can feel the way Kira’s clothes brush and press against her. Then there’s the way the mattress sinks beneath her.

Oh, it’s quite wondrous just how much she feels.

She runs a hand across her leg, across her arm, across her face. The clothes feel interesting beneath her palms, but once she reaches bare skin, she shivers and gasps. The shiver is so completely different from the way her walls shiver. She feels something curling within her and pooling down at the apex of her thighs. She likes the way it feels to touch her bare skin. And the noise! So much different than any noise she could make as a house. So gentle and sweet and so unexpected, like her new body knew what it needed to do before she did. 

She keeps touching herself. Bare skin feels the best, but when Rey runs her hands down her sides, she can feel herself shiver again. Her hands rise to her chest, curious. Ben loves it when she teases him there, but all she can feel is fabric dulling the sensations she was hoping for. 

Taking off the clothes provides more of a struggle for her than expected, despite the fact that she’s watched her humans take off their clothes so many times. But they’re practiced at it, this is only her first attempt. She gets there eventually though, and stands to stare at her new self in the mirror.

“Beautiful,” Rey murmurs as her eyes run over her skin. 

Her hands follow, giving her more shivers as they run down the sides again, then back to her chest where her nipples are pebbling in the cold air. She cups her breasts, enjoying the soft weight of them in her hands and smoothing her palms over them, just in case that might feel good.  
  
It doesn’t feel quite like she expected, but when Rey finally does take a nipple between her fingers to pinch and pull, she can feel the force of her moan reverberate through the walls. It brings a smile to her face that stretches her cheeks and makes her eyes close in pleasure and delight. 

Once she’s had her fill of playing with her nipples, her hand moves lower. There’s a thick patch of hair between her legs, and Rey knows this is natural, even if the women on Ben’s computer usually don’t have it. 

She buries her fingers into it, looking for the spots she knows are there, and flinching when the wiry hairs brush up against sensitive spots. But with a few more strokes she finds her way between the hairs and onto the slick skin beneath.   
  
The first touch nearly makes her crumple to the floor in shock. Her knees bend and shake and a whimper escapes her lips. 

Rey sits back down on the bed to steady herself, her hand still hovering over the sensitive skin. Now she fully understands why a bed, or at least some kind of support, is necessary. She had _some_ idea how powerful human touch could be, but this is beyond all her previous expectations.

She leans back on the bed and opens her legs, knowing there’s more to feel, more to explore. 

She’s so _happy_ that Kira left her body behind.

* * *

Ben pulls onto the grounds of the house, tired and worn, just like any other Thursday. He truly cannot wait to leave Snoke’s firm, so perhaps that’s why he doesn’t realize at first why he feels strange as he pulls the gate open and returns to his car.

It isn’t until he pulls up to the house and steps onto the stairs that he really notices. He usually feels relieved the second he arrives, as his house warmly welcomes her back into her space, their home. This time the house feels dead, empty.

His heart races as he climbs the stairs too slow and unlocks the front door. It’s like his heart wants to run, wants to figure out what’s wrong, but his body can’t comply. As he panics, his brain searches for what could have possibly happened in his absence. A burglar? Did someone come and attack her? Was she hurt? Destroyed? And who or what could have possibly done such a thing? Another spirit?

As soon as he enters and puts his briefcase down, he heads towards the kitchen and finds the biggest knife he has. He isn’t ruling out an intruder totally, though it won’t do him much good if the attacker is a ghost.

It isn’t until he starts searching for another sort of weapon that he notices the basement door is unlocked and ajar. The damn basement door that he hasn’t been able to open for months. None of his searches have produced a new key to try, so _someone_ must have it and another set of keys to the house. _Someone_ must have broken in.

He grabs a broom for good measure and heads towards the door, flinging it open, half expecting the criminal to be waiting for him on the other side. Instead there is just a landing, and a flight of stairs leading down to a small storage space with a freezer, some cans and bottles of mysterious origin, and a few stains on the ground. Beyond that there is a wall with a door, decorated a bit like the rest of the house with its elaborate wainscoting, but more plainly. 

Most of the room is dark, just a small window at the opposite side of the storage space providing some illumination, but Ben can see a crack of light coming out from under the door opposite the stairs. All is quiet and still except for the pounding of his heart, his heavy breathing, and the dust settling in the air.

The first step creaks below his weight, so loud and unsettling that Ben nearly turns back. Only curiosity about who could possibly be in the basement propels him forward, down the rest of the stairs and into the dark and musty room.

Now that he’s down here, a few shelves of jars come into view, and Ben realizes this was most likely a cellar once. Something about seeing only familiar things that would normally be in a basement calms him slightly. Perhaps whomever it was took what they came for and left, albeit sloppily. That still doesn’t explain the absence of the spirit of the house. Could someone have simply taken her? Was she connected to some object down here?

Nothing, besides the lack of her, seems wrong as he places a hand on the door knob and turns it. Nothing seems wrong as he enters the little antique kitchen, filled with a refrigerator that must date back to the 50’s and a stove that must be turn of the century. The sink is similarly old. 

A memory springs up unbidden of his mother telling him over the phone about Kira, how Leia wished she’d move onto one of the first story bedrooms instead of living in the basement. Did she come back to the house? Ben wonders why she didn’t just call or text him. They exchanged numbers when she first moved in with Leia, though he hadn’t thought to reestablish contact in the months since her funeral. 

In the room beyond the kitchen, Ben’s eyes skim across the mismatched furniture and land on the doors on the opposite side. One’s closed and dark, but the other is ajar with the afternoon light streaming through and he hears something beyond it. Fear overwhelms him once again, making his heart thud hard in his ears. His grip tightens around the knife and the broom, though Ben feels utterly helpless not knowing why everything is so wrong in _his_ house.

Slowly, he peeks his head past into the doorway, looking for danger before it can spot him. But what he finds there isn’t danger, just a naked woman lying on the bed in the throes of self-pleasure. There’s something familiar about her that he can’t quite place.  
  
She shifts and Ben sees her face, eyes closed and lost in her own fantasy, and he realizes three things all at once:

  1. It’s Kira. He recognizes her from the funeral. 
  2. Something is very, very wrong with her. There’s a strange bruise on her forehead that should be looked at right away, especially if that’s dried blood on her temple, like he suspects.
  3. She’s currently inserting two fingers, maybe three, into her cunt and moaning.



Instead of relief, he only feels fresh panic and the traitorous stirrings of his cock.   
  
Another moan distracts him further, and Ben sees her take a nipple between her fingers and tug on it. His throat goes dry wishing he could take it between his lips. _God!_ He’s pathetic. He should be angry. He should be upset that Kira broke into the house. He should be storming in there and demanding she leave.

But no, there’s nothing more he wants than to flip her over, her ass in the air and stick his face between her thighs. He wants to hear those moans coming from her lips because _he’s_ the one making her feel that good.

He moves to palm his cock, and it’s not until the hilt bumps against his belt buckle that he remembers the knife, startling him so much that he drops it. The sound of it hitting the ground is so loud that Ben thinks he’ll never be able to hear anything besides it and the frantic beating of his heart ever again. His eyes find Kira, who’s looking at him now, her face etched with shock. 

“Ben,” she whispers before he thinks to back away from the door.  
  
“K-Kira, I-” 

Ben stops himself before apologizing because she clearly _broke into his house,_ but also he can’t stop staring at the strange bruise on her head as she starts walking toward him. It doesn’t look fresh, but it also doesn’t look like anyone tended to it when it _was_ fresh, and something about it is just off, but he can’t place it for the life of him. 

When he looks back to her face, he doesn’t see panic or guilt or shame, just a wide, eerie smile and bright eyes that he doesn’t understand. Why is Kira here? She hasn’t even tried to put her clothes back on or cover herself up...

“No, not Kira,” Kira says, making Ben do a mental double take that leaves him stunned. “This is just her body. She left it behind.” 

“What?” Ben asks as he backs away. If he can just get up the stairs, he can run out to his car and call the police from the road.

“Kira’s dead,” she says calmly. “She died here.” 

Ben’s mouth goes dry as he backs into the kitchen. “Dead?”

Kira just nods. “Yes, she fell down the stairs and died.”

His head is screaming with questions, but only the first one makes it out of his mouth with a dry croak. “When?”

A wistful look crosses Kira’s face. “A few days after Miss Leia died. She had just finished packing up her things. Poor girl, she was really upset about it. It’s really not fair when people die so young when they could have so much life ahead of them.” 

His mind tries very, very hard to make sense of all the information Kira is giving him, and for a brief moment he can maybe understand that the wound on her forehead must have been caused by a fall, but no explanation that he can conjure fits with how a dead woman could be alive and looking mostly well before him.

“If you’re- If you’re dead, then how are you moving and walking and talking?”

Kira’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh Ben. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? I’m not dead, _Kira_ is the one who’s dead.”

Ben’s mouth falls open as his mind tries again to add it all up. “But if you’re not Kira, then who are you?”

The woman’s eyes glisten with excitement. “I’m Rey!”   
  
He scans her face for an explanation, some reason he should know who “Rey” is, but there is none.   
  
“A-are you her sister? Are you twins?” he tries, knowing full well that still doesn’t make all the dots connect. Not in the slightest.   
  
Rey just rolls her eyes and laughs. It’s a sweet laugh, one that echoes off the walls around them. “No, silly. I’m the house. _Finca de los_ **Rey** _es._ But that’s so long that I decided just ‘Rey’ would be a nice little nickname. _”_

Before Ben can react to this startling information -that his _house_ has possessed the body of _a dead person_ \- the back of his foot hits something hard and he begins to teeter. He tries to right himself, but the broom handle catches on the floor and sends him falling. 

It’s the kind of fall that takes a moment to recover from. His hands managed to drop the broom and catch some of his weight, but his head still bounces off the edge of the stairs, and his back gets hit too. It fucking hurts, too much to tell if anything’s broken yet, so all Ben can do is hiss in pain. 

“Ben! Are you alright?”

She’s on him in an instant, kneeling beside him and lightly touching his head. Despite the pain, Ben notices that she shivers and smiles when her hand meets his hair. All he can do is groan and roll himself onto the dirty floor.  
  
“You’re not bleeding, thank goodness,” she says, following him and sitting beside him. “It would be just awful if you died where Kira died.”

His stomach tightens and he finds the energy to push himself up. There’s a stain on the floor that didn’t look so strange when he first saw it, but now that he’s much closer, it is dark and reddish and parts of it look strangely sticky. He wants to vomit, but instead he pushes himself away from the stain.  
  
“I don’t understand,” he mumbles. “She’s been dead this entire time? Since before I moved in?”

“Yes, I put her body in the freezer,” Rey says, pointing to the freezer against the wall by the stairs. “In case someone came for her.”

Ben turns his head that way, several questions running through his mind at once. “No one came for her?”

“No,” Rey says, scooting closer to him with an affectionate smile on her face. “You’re the first person who knows she’s dead.”

“That’s fucked up,” is all Ben can manage to say about that. He’s dizzy, but moves himself over to the opposite wall so he has something to lean against. Rey crawls to his side, and Ben frowns as she trails a hand down his arm with a pleased smile. “You can’t use her body like that, it’s not right.”

Rey blinks. “It’s not?”

Ben shakes his head and moves her hand off of him. 

“But she’s not using it anymore,” Rey pouts, curling her hands up into little fists. “And it shouldn’t go to waste.” 

“That isn’t really the point of respecting the dead,” Ben groans. His brain does not really want to deal with this. He’d very much rather close his eyes and sleep, but he probably has a concussion, so that’s a _bad_ idea. 

Beside him, Rey lets out a huff before curling into a little ball, her arms wrapped around her knees. For a second he truly feels sorry for her. She must have wanted to be human so badly, but to use someone else’s body…  
  
“It’s not fair.”

There’s tears in her eyes when Ben turns his head to better look at her, and his heart clenches unexpectedly.  
  
“All I wanted to do was experience pleasure like you do,” she sniffles against her knee. “I just wanted to know what that would be like.”

Ben covers his face with a hand and sighs. “Still, it’s-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Rey whips around and grabs his hands. For a moment he expects her to throw herself at him, maybe kiss him, because she leans forward. But then she falls, utterly lifeless in his hands, and when Ben tries to catch her, he realizes he can’t move.

Just as Rey’s head hits his thigh, there’s an onslaught of memories. All the years spent watching her occupants, all the things she found curious and interesting. Most of the time she was content with bringing a sense of joy to all who lived there, but sometimes there was a yearning for more. When a child played on the front lawns, when a couple was deep within the throes of pleasure, her loneliness when no one was home.

She shows him his mother’s childhood here, the good and the bad parts, and he can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. Then there’s Old Man Kenobi’s years, the way he noticed the house, and her joy at receiving Kenobi’s gifts -more books for her shelves. The summer he spent here as a child, which made her so happy, how she’d always wished he’d come back some day and fill her walls with laughter. 

She hesitates when it comes to Leia’s final months here. He gets a peek and then feels her retreating.  
  
“Show me,” he manages to choke out. “ _Please._ ”

When she returns, Ben sees the peace his mother felt here, finally, after so many years of avoidance. Even on her worst days, after the chemo, she was happy. Much like Kenobi, she sensed something in the house, and spoke to it like Ben does now. He sees her put the Twilight books on the library shelves, winking to no one as she leaves.   
  
And then Kira… He sees the moment she dies, and the moment when her spirit decides to leave. Rey’s heart breaks all over again, stuck alone in the house with only a dead body for company. Until he arrives, and with him comes new joy. He feels exactly how much it pleases her to bring him pleasure, and how much her curiosity grows with each encounter, her wish to feel it too. 

When Rey finally pulls herself back into Kira’s body, he knows exactly why she’s worked so hard to possess it. His tears of longing for his mother have turned into tears of sadness that he hasn’t done much of anything for his house. He was too lost in his own haze of lust to think about her, his house, his _home._ When he looks up, she’s staring at him, eyes full of her own tears and desperation, begging him silently not to make her give up her dreams.

“Fuck,” he mutters, bringing a hand up wipe his tears away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.”

Rey shakes her head, more tears spilling from her cheeks to her breasts and downward. “It’s not your fault. I just wanted to be human.”

His heart seizes at her sorrow and suddenly he’s struck with the urge to make things right. Pulling her forward, Ben’s lips find hers and it’s like everything locks into place as they scramble to hold each other. 

He wants her, he’s always wanted her, even before he understood it. The house has always drawn him in, with its beauty, with its extraordinary abilities, and now he can show her the kind of love she wants and deserves in return.

He pulls away just to look at her, and Rey stares back with questions in her eyes that he knows she doesn’t dare speak yet. She looks like Kira, but at the same time she doesn’t. There are so many emotions bubbling to the surface: hope, excitement, fear. The Kira he knew, albeit briefly, was serious and closed off. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek softly.

Rey’s eyes widen and she leans into his palm. “You mean?”

“It’ll be more comfortable on my bed than down here. And less dusty,” he laughs, just before Rey launches herself into his arms and squeezes him tight.

* * *

Rey follows Ben up the grand staircase, dizzy from joy. Part of her wishes that she could kiss him right now, kiss him all the way up the stairs until the second they make it to the bedroom. It had felt so good kissing him, and her body burns for more already. She has a feeling it will be far different than what it felt like to play with herself. Touch is so much stranger than she ever imagined, but so much more wonderful too. 

He finally kisses her again when they get into his bedroom, and she wraps her arms around his neck like she’s seen so many lovers do. Ben’s hands wrap around her waist and pull her closer, and oh, that’s the best feeling yet, especially when he picks her up and twirls her around before depositing her onto the bed. 

This time when he kisses her, it’s more hungry. Rey senses his need immediately, can feel it in the way his soft lips press into hers, can feel it rubbing against her thigh through the fabric of his pants too. She tries to hold him tighter, to keep him there, kissing her forever, but Ben breaks free and begins to kiss and suck on her neck, and her new body feels it all. It’s so good, so dizzying, that she feels overwhelmed, but in a good way - the best way. 

When he opens up her legs and begins to lick her there, Rey thinks she might just explode. It’s so much more intense than her fingers, the way he explores her, though he uses those too and they are so much bigger than hers and can reach so many more places. It doesn’t take her long to come like that, and when she does the whole house shivers.

“Jesus,” Ben yelps, pulling himself away far too soon. Rey whimpers. It felt so good that suddenly she was everywhere all at once. In the body, in her walls, all throughout the grounds, but now she’s desperately missing the feel of him on her.   
  
He’s looking at her in shock, but all she can do is giggle at him through her post-orgasmic haze and pull him down to kiss her again. 

“That was amazing,” she breathes as she tastes herself on his lips. It’s not an unpleasant taste, Rey thinks, but she has nothing to compare it to yet. Perhaps Ben can cook her some of the delicious-looking food he makes sometime so she can learn more about these things. 

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs back.  
  
“I want to taste you,” she tells him, and watches his eyes grow wide again, like he wasn’t expecting that.

Rey smirks as she sits up, her eyes gazing down to where his cock lays in his jeans. She can see it twitching with interest even beneath the heavy layers of fabric. Ben takes the hint and begins to unbutton his shirt, then his pants, and finally rids himself of all clothing. It isn’t as if she hasn’t seen his body before, but to see him in these eyes makes Rey tingle with excitement.

She pulls him down to the bed, straddling him for a moment before creeping lower to sit between his legs and kissing the tip of his cock. She’s read about this in some of the more exciting books in her library, and she knows she must be careful here. It’s not just that her ministrations could be too rough like they have been sometimes before she had a human body to play with, her new teeth could seriously hurt him. 

The skin of his cock is so soft beneath her lips, silky even. But possibly the best part is when Ben shudders and groans at her touch, and she remembers just how much she enjoys pleasuring him. Even better, she can feel her body growing hot in response, spurred on by his reaction. Carefully, she reaches out her tongue and presses it against his shaft, just under his head, and she’s rewarded with Ben’s hand in her hair, gently encouraging her. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as she slides down his length and laps at the base of his cock, then his balls. Those are hairy and not so pleasant on her tongue, so she doesn’t linger there long, but perhaps next time she uses the statues out front, she’ll take the chance to play with him more there. 

The area below his balls has slightly less hair, and Rey reaches out to taste it, making Ben twitch beneath her then tighten his fist around her hair. “ _Rey…_ ”

His voice is dark and there’s a warning in there somewhere, but mostly it’s full of need. Her tongue darts out again and presses harder this time, eager to see how his body will react to more. Ben’s head falls back against the pillows and Rey knows she’s doing this right. Her hand comes up to push his balls out of her way and she palms them as she works her tongue over his flesh, testing to see how much pressure they can take. 

Ben’s hips arch, only serving to press himself against her more, and Rey smiles into his skin. He wants more of this, she can tell and a thought comes into her mind. He’s loved it every time she’s played with his ass, why should this time be any different? 

On his back like this, it’s a little harder to reach his asshole, so she pushes his legs further apart, and then uses her hands to pry open his cheeks. She’ll have to lick him until he’s wet enough to take her fingers, so she sets to work, even as he begins to writhe and moan in protest.

When he seems ready, she sits up and watches as she presses her fingers in. Ben’s nearly in tears, his skin all flushed, and his breath coming out in little pants. She loves to see him like this, but now she wonders if the way he squirms when she enters him is anything like how she looked as he made her come.

Once she finds a steady rhythm with her fingers, her eyes drift down to his cock. It’s dripping onto his stomach, all purple and swollen for lack of attention, and Rey realizes she hasn’t really tasted him there yet. 

Ben inhales sharply as she bends over toward his cock, and she pauses for a moment as she takes it in hand.   
  
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she coos. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

Before he can even moan in response, she has the tip of him in her mouth. Her tongue darts out over his head and now she can taste the slightly salty fluid that is oozing out of there. It’s not the same as her own body’s taste, a little more bitter, but she doesn’t let that stop her from sliding down further.

“Oh god, _please,_ ” Ben moans. His hands are gripping her now, almost to the point of hurting, as she begins to pull back up. It’s a little harder to take him all in her mouth than she expected, especially as she pumps his ass and brushes up against that spot that she knows he likes. 

Saliva drips down his length, easing her path forward, and each time she makes it a little further down until her nose brushes against his pubic hair. She comes back up and swirls her tongue around his head, just as he grips her shoulder hard and his hips thrust up and he comes into her mouth.

His spend is sticky and bitter against her tongue, and he whines as she keeps playing with his ass as the last of it comes in little spurts. Rey grins as she looks up at Ben, hoping to see his satisfaction, but instead finding him thoroughly boneless. 

She leaves him there for just a moment, darting into the bathroom to take care of her hands (one of her library’s books is more instructional and says sexual hygiene is very important), and returns to find Ben slightly more lucid. 

“Amazing,” she whispers into his ear as she wraps her arms around him. Ben presses himself against her, and inside Rey can feel her affection for him grow.   
  
“It’s going to take me a bit to recover,” he says quietly, a hint of guilt in his voice.

For a moment she’s confused. Some of her books make it seem like human men are able to go straight from a blowjob to more, but then she remembers the more instructional one, which _had_ mentioned that human men had a much longer refractory time post-orgasm than human women. It also said that careful stimulation could help them recover quicker.

“Shh, don’t worry,” Rey says, shushing him with a kiss, her smile growing against his lips. “There’s plenty we can do while we wait.”

That’s how Ben finds his mouth buried between her thighs again a few moments later, lapping at her cunt while she grinds her hips down. From this position, she can reach his nipples, and Rey wastes no time in pinching and pulling on him just like she knows he likes. Ben’s head falls back with a moan.

“You like that, don’t you?” She giggles, wishing she could see his face right then. “Your favorite.” 

“Fuck, you’re such a tease,” he murmurs, arms gripping her thighs tighter as she plays with one, then the other until his cock is hard and ready and he’s a simpering mess below her.

She doesn’t let him go until he makes her come again, the house rattling long and slow this time along with her orgasm. And when she rolls off his tongue to sink into the pillows, that’s when Ben pounces.

Or more specifically, he is suddenly above her and moving her legs to his shoulders so his hips can fit between them, using his body weight to pin her down. When she gasps at the feel of his cock sliding against her wetness, Ben dips in close, taking her earlobe between his teeth.

“God, I fucking want you so bad, Rey,” he whispers, a hand coming to spread her lower lips apart. “Always playing with me, making me doing all these strange things, and now I get to really fuck _you,_ not the other way around.” 

It’s all happening so fast, his cock is already pushing into her with ease, and Rey is suddenly so full in a place that she barely knew existed inside her. She cries out as he thrusts into her for the first time, and Ben chuckles as he bites into her neck.

“You want to know what it’s like to fuck like a real person? I’m going to make sure my cock is all you can think about from here on out, sweetheart.” 

As if to prove his point, he snaps his hips, hitting hard and deep inside her. A strangled cry escapes her throat as he continues to thrust, turning her head so he can capture her mouth. Just as quickly, he pulls back, watching as she pants and moans and cries with ecstasy. It’s all she can do to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight as he fucks her so hard she thinks she might break. 

Rey never ever _ever_ expected real, actual sex to be like this. She can’t even begin to wrap her head around how wonderful she feels with Ben inside her, the feel of him everywhere, but especially the very depths of her body. Perhaps this is what he felt like when she possessed him, and she hopes that this is how wonderful he felt all the times she fucked his ass.

Then he pulls out of her completely and Rey feels like she might just start crying. It feels so wrong to be left empty like that after being so full, but Ben’s hands are on her again in an instant, pushing her to where he wants her to be: on her hands and knees apparently.

She realizes it just as he enters her again and pushes her head down into the pillows with his thrusts. His hands are gripping her hips so tightly, sliding her up and down his cock like a well-oiled machine. It’s so intense and all-consuming that all she can think to do is grip the sheets in order to keep herself from slipping and sliding down the bed, her consciousness only able to focus on what is happening to her body. 

And then one of his hands slides down her hip and in between her legs, and Rey is even more lost within the throes of pleasure than she’d ever thought she could be. Her body can still feel the last two orgasms she had, and with every mind-numbing circle he draws around her clit, her entire being -both the physical and the not- pulsates around her. 

It isn’t long before her walls shudder and shake, over and over and over again as Ben fucks into her relentlessly. He doesn’t stop, he just keeps going as she cries out and nearly faints from her orgasm. It takes every bit of her energy to keep herself in her body instead of passing out and returning to her natural state, but she doesn’t want to miss any part of this, so she holds on with everything she’s got.

He switches their position up again, pulling her up and wrapping his arms around her as he bounces her on his lap like a child. Her knees don’t hold her up so much as follow his movements up and down and back again, and she’s grateful when his hand wraps around her throat to pull her against him.   
  
“Does that feel good, Rey?” he murmurs into her ear. “Is it everything you wanted?”

She’s really too overwhelmed to speak, just a moan gurgling out of her as he keeps on pounding her with his cock. Her cunt is still throbbing, and it’s almost like torture and it makes her want to crawl out of her skin and never want to leave at the same time.   
  
“Say it, sweetheart,” he growls, his hips slowing and threatening to break away from her. “I want to hear you say it.”   
  
“Ahh,” is all she can manage at first, before she swallows and tries to focus on his voice, his command, instead of her body. It takes her a moment. “It feels good! _Fuck,_ it feels so good!” 

Ben’s rhythm falters for a split-second, but then he keeps going, just as hard and as fast as before.   
  
“Good girl. That’s what I want. To fuck you that good.”

It’s only because she’s concentrating so hard on his voice that she notices the way it drops suddenly, and then the way his thrusts falter again, and the way he’s suddenly filling her with his hot, sticky cum as he groans her name over and over. 

Somehow they topple back onto the sheets, still joined, both of them panting like mad. She twists her shoulder, wanting to see him, wanting to kiss him, and he’s there right away -ready to take her lips. 

They stay like that for a long time until Rey twists to face him, and his soft cock slips out of her. But now she doesn’t miss it so much because all she wants is to sink into the soft bedding with Ben kissing her. She’s utterly exhausted, and part of her yearns to slide back into the walls, but she can hold on long enough to kiss him a little while longer.

“Fuck,” he says softly when they finally part, his eyes shining with wonder. “You really are incredible, Sex House.”   
  
Rey just raises her eyebrows at him in amusement and affection. “I thought you didn’t want to call me that anymore.”

Ben just hums and kisses her forehead. “Not all the time. Just sometimes.”

She nestles against him for a moment, but then Ben pulls back suddenly.   
  
“I didn’t wear a condom,” he says quickly when she looks up at him. “Should I have worn a condom?” 

“I- I don’t know?” she answers. She doesn’t _think_ it works like that once a person has died, but that book on sex didn’t have a chapter on such things.

Ben doesn’t look reassured. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ what if I get an STI from Kira’s body? Or-or-or you can still get pregnant, or worse!” 

“Worse?” Rey asks. She isn’t sure how an STI or a pregnancy could happen in a body that she can enter and exit at will, but she isn’t quite sure how everything works just yet.

“Yeah, like what if someone finds the body when you’re not in it and my DNA’s all over it?” he says, pressing his lips together and puffing out his cheeks like she sees him do when he’s nervous about work things. “That would be really, really bad. I could go to jail and never see you again.”

Rey blinks, surprised he hasn’t realized how silly he sounds yet. “That won’t happen. If someone comes over, I can just enter the body and pretend to be Kira.”

“Oh,” he says, and then he visibly relaxes and flops down onto the bed. “Oh.”

Scooting in next to him, Rey curls into the crook of his shoulder. “Somehow I don’t think any of those things will happen.”

Ben sighs and his arm comes up to pet her head. “You’re probably right.”

He falls asleep like that, holding her, and Rey slips back into the house itself to allow herself some rest.

* * *

Ben can feel his bones getting weaker as he slowly lowers himself into his favorite chair in the library. Rey comes in behind him, her body as young as ever, with the hot tea he asked for. He really hates having her dote on him, but climbing the stairs isn’t so easy these days, and neither is tending to the garden. He can still cook though, and he loves letting Rey taste what he’s made, even if she’s had it before.  
  
“Here you go, sweetheart,” she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead before she covers his legs with a blanket.

He watches as she peruses the shelves for something to read, and doesn’t pick his book up until she’s made her choice. She smiles at him as she sits in the chair next to his and takes his hand. They spend every night like this, and even though things have changed, Ben can’t help but feel lucky that Finca de los Reyes became his home. He wouldn’t change any of the past fifty some-odd years for anything -except maybe a bit more time with his mother and father, but otherwise, no. 

When his eyes start to droop, he looks over at her and sees Rey’s still engrossed in her book, so he closes his eyes and falls asleep. Better to let her have more time to herself. She does far too much work now that he’s old. It’s warm with the blanket on his legs, and he’s so comfortable that he sleeps deeply, dreaming of a dog they used to have back when he walked more.

Eventually she does wake him, kissing his balding head once again and rubbing his arms affectionately as Ben blinks the sleep away from his eyes.  
  
“Did you have a nice nap?” Rey’s hands come up under his armpits to help lift him from the chair, steady and strong.   
  
Ben still towers over her, even with his back bent from age, and he smiles down on her. “Yes, my love. I had a dream where you and I were walking with BeeBee.”   
  
“Sounds nice,” she says as she hands him his cane.

The journey up the stairs is slow, and if it wasn’t for his deep love for his house and the lack of a full bathroom on the first floor, he’d let Rey set up a bedroom in the drawing room so he wouldn’t have to climb up and down anymore. But he can’t find any solution he likes and he won’t let Rey install a chair lift, so he makes the journey anyway, arriving at the top gasping for air.

She rubs his back and lets him rest on the little stool right at the top so he can catch his breath again. Tomorrow, Ben thinks, he should call the flower shop and have something pretty delivered for her. 

Yes, tomorrow.

By the time Rey’s got him washed up and into his pyjamas, Ben feels more tired than usual. He can’t really say why. Just like they do every night, Rey climbs into bed with him and they kiss and touch each other. He doesn’t really get hard anymore, not fully, but her fingers still feel nice stroking his cock and she still rattles the house when she comes. He feels like a young man again every time he looks into her adoring eyes, and the tiredness slips away for a moment.   
  
“I love you, Ben,” she whispers as he drifts off to sleep in her arms. 

It’s still pitch dark when he wakes, and Ben curses the fact that his body doesn’t let him sleep like it used to. Rey’s moved herself to the freezer by now, like she always does. They had one installed in the master bathroom and Ben created a wooden frame to help it blend in with the rest of the room.  
  
“Rey!” he calls out before sitting up. “I’m gonna need the toilet.”   
  
It’s then he realizes he’s not cold, and that the blankets haven’t moved out of his way so much as slipped through him.

And then Rey appears before him.

Not in Kira’s body -though it looks like Kira’s body, but if Kira’s body was slightly see-through…

“Ben?” There’s an uncertain waver in her voice, something almost scared.   
  
“What? What’s wrong?” He asks quickly, wishing he could stand up easily to pull her toward him. “You don’t look right.” 

Tears begin to fall from her eyes as she steps closer to him. “I-I think you’re dead. Your body is- And I-”

She covers her mouth, too emotional to speak, and Ben looks down at himself. He’s a bit see-through too, and someone’s hand is laying inside his thighs. 

He stands easily because it doesn’t hurt for the first time in years, and looks back at his lifeless body. “Huh.”

A sob comes from behind him, and he turns back to Rey. She’s not in her body either, he realizes, but he can still see her. Ben reaches for her, pulls her in. God, it’s so much easier to move now.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. “It’s just like we always talked about. Together forever.”   
  
Rey buries her face into the ghostly fabric on his chest and stays there a minute.   
  
“You’re right,” she says, her voice warbly and wet, but a smile appearing just as she looks up at him again. “Now we never have to be apart.”

Ben smiles widely back at her. “Never.”

* * *

The house across the river is haunted, they say. 

And that’s mostly true. People just don’t know what joy a spirit or two can bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Necrophilia: Rey possesses a dead body and uses it to fuck Ben, and finally gets to feel pleasure.
> 
> Character death: After a time skip, Ben dies of natural causes at an old age. He and Rey still get a happy ending despite Ben's death.
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you so much to my fellow authors: vulpines, QueenofCarrotFlowers, RagtimeCat, IAmYourCaptainNow, VeriLee, millies_menagerie, and starcrossreylo! It's been so exciting to work on this fic with you and see all the amazing ideas you've brought to life. What we've created is really amazing and funny and so lovely, I'm so proud of us.
> 
> I hope all you readers enjoyed this fic as much as we did writing it!

**Author's Note:**

> What was he fucked with? Frussy, of course.


End file.
